Existentialism. Now there’s a term that sounds like it should come with its own beret and a glass of absinthe, doesn’t it? But beneath the artsy mystique and smoky coffeehouse vibes, existentialism has a lot more to do with modern psychotherapy than you might think. Sure, Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, and their crowd loved to sit around talking about the absurdity of life, but it turns out that kind of thinking laid some pretty important groundwork for helping people cope with the daily dilemmas of being, well, human. Modern psychotherapeutic approaches, inspired by these existential concepts, have managed to sneak philosophy into the therapy room without anyone needing to dust off a copy of "Being and Nothingness." But how did that happen? Let's unravel this thread, step by step, to see how existentialism’s influence on psychotherapy has shaped a good deal of the modern practices that have you lying on the couch, or more accurately these days, on Zoom.
It’s essential to start with the basics: what is existentialism, and what does it have to do with psychology in the first place? At its core, existentialism is all about the individual’s quest to find meaning in a chaotic, indifferent universe. It’s about freedom, personal choice, and, let’s be honest, the slightly terrifying amount of responsibility we all have for our own lives. Existentialists love to ask questions like: "Why are we here?" and "How do we deal with the inevitability of death?" If that sounds heavy, that’s because it is. But it’s also remarkably relevant for people sitting in a therapist’s office (virtual or otherwise), trying to make sense of the stuff that keeps them up at night. From existential angst to isolation to freedom, many of the philosophical questions explored by existentialists can feel like they were ripped straight from the pages of a therapy manual—just with fewer footnotes and more staring into the void.
Take Viktor Frankl, for instance. He was one of those existentialists who not only stared into the void but also lived through it, surviving the Holocaust. Frankl took the core tenets of existentialism and used them to create something he called logotherapy. If existentialism is about finding meaning in the seemingly meaningless, logotherapy is the answer key to that pop quiz. The name might sound fancy, but it boils down to a simple idea: people need purpose, something to latch onto that makes all the suffering worth it. Modern therapists use this idea when they help clients discover their values and find meaning, especially in tough situations. For Frankl, and for the clients who benefit from this approach, finding meaning isn’t a luxury; it’s a lifeline—something to keep you from getting lost in that giant IKEA we call life, where you can't find the exits, and you've somehow ended up with 37 tealight candles you never intended to buy.
Then there's freedom, or, as I like to call it, the great cosmic joke. Existentialism tells us that we are free, uncomfortably so, with the power to make choices that shape our entire existence. But here's the kicker—that freedom is paired with a weighty sense of responsibility. Cue existential dread. You’ve probably experienced this in your own life. Ever had one of those moments where you realize just how much control you actually have over things, and instead of feeling empowered, you want to crawl under a blanket and stay there? Yeah, that’s existential freedom. In therapy, existentialist-inspired practices address this by helping people lean into that freedom rather than shy away from it. It's about recognizing that while we can’t control everything, we can control how we respond, and in those responses, we find our power. It’s a lot less about making perfect decisions and a lot more about embracing the fact that we're all just muddling through as best as we can—like trying to follow a complicated recipe that doesn’t have any pictures.
Existentialism also gave us a healthy relationship with anxiety—or at least a new way to look at it. To the existentialists, anxiety is not something to avoid or fix. It’s just part of being human. Existential anxiety, or "angst" (because of course the existentialists had to have a dramatic name for it), is that sense of unease we get from knowing that life is uncertain, that we're mortal, and that there are no guarantees. This kind of anxiety, unlike a phobia or a panic attack, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s a wake-up call, a reminder that life is finite and that we should probably get around to doing the stuff that matters to us before it's too late. Modern therapeutic practices, like Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), draw on this idea. Instead of trying to squash anxiety, ACT teaches clients to accept it and move forward anyway—to live in a way that's meaningful, even when the anxiety is still hanging around in the background like an uninvited party guest who refuses to leave.
Let’s not forget about authenticity, a word that's been thrown around so much it’s starting to lose its shine. But existentialists were all about it, long before it became a buzzword. Authenticity, in existential terms, means living in accordance with your true self—not the self that others expect you to be or the one that fits neatly into societal molds. It means taking a good, hard look at your life and making sure it actually lines up with your values. This isn’t about being selfish; it's about being true. Modern therapists who draw on existential principles help their clients get real about what's driving their actions. Are they living for themselves, or for someone else’s idea of what their life should look like? These therapists encourage individuals to shake off the "bad faith" choices—those decisions we make to avoid the discomfort of freedom or to conform. Therapy, in this sense, becomes less about "fixing" people and more about empowering them to live authentically, even if that means making some tough calls.
And then there’s death—the big one. Existentialists have a lot to say about death, and while it might seem a bit grim, it's actually one of the most profoundly life-affirming aspects of the philosophy. Death, to the existentialist, is the ultimate motivator. It’s the thing that puts everything into perspective, the ticking clock that reminds us our time is limited. In therapy, engaging with the concept of mortality can be incredibly liberating. Instead of fearing death or avoiding the thought of it, existentially informed therapists help clients face it head-on. The idea isn’t to make people morbid but to use the awareness of mortality as a way to live more fully—to prioritize what truly matters, whether that's spending time with loved ones, pursuing a passion, or simply learning to let go of the small stuff. It’s about embracing life, warts and all, because the clock is ticking, and nobody gets a do-over.
Isolation is another biggie in existentialism, and it’s not just about physical loneliness. It’s about the fact that, at the end of the day, each of us is ultimately alone in our experience of life. No one else can fully walk in our shoes or understand our inner world. That sounds a bit depressing, sure, but existential therapists use this concept to help people foster deeper, more meaningful connections. Rather than trying to eliminate that existential isolation, therapists work to help clients understand it, accept it, and still seek genuine relationships. It’s about being okay with the fact that we can’t fully bridge the gap between ourselves and others while still making the effort to connect. It’s like knowing that even though you’ll never understand why your best friend loves that one terrible TV show, you still enjoy spending time with them anyway.
Therapy inspired by existential principles is also marked by the nature of the relationship between therapist and client. The therapist isn’t some distant expert handing down wisdom from on high. Instead, they’re more like a co-navigator, someone willing to sit in the confusion and complexity with the client, without necessarily having all the answers. This approach comes directly from existential philosophy’s emphasis on personal experience. The therapist isn’t there to "fix" anything; they’re there to accompany the client on their journey, to help them ask the right questions, and maybe to provide a flashlight when the path gets particularly dark. This partnership makes the therapy feel less like a top-down process and more like a collaboration—one where the client is ultimately in the driver’s seat, but with a supportive co-pilot.
And then there's existential guilt—which, let me assure you, is not the same as the kind of guilt you feel after eating an entire pizza by yourself. Existential guilt comes from the realization that we are not living up to our potential or that we’ve failed to take responsibility for our freedom. It’s that nagging feeling that we could be more, do more, if only we had the courage to break free of the excuses and just go for it. In modern psychotherapy, this concept is used to help clients address their feelings of stuckness. Rather than getting bogged down in shame, existentially informed therapists encourage people to see guilt as a signal—a prompt that maybe something needs to change. It’s not about wallowing in what could have been but about using that discomfort to propel forward action.
Let’s talk about the more structured branch of existential therapy—logotherapy. Viktor Frankl's approach is perhaps the most direct application of existential principles in therapy, centering explicitly on the idea that finding meaning in life is what keeps us going. It’s about zooming out and looking at the bigger picture, especially during the toughest times. Imagine being in a situation where everything is out of your control, and the only choice you have is how you’re going to respond internally. Frankl's logotherapy uses that very idea. It tells people that even in the worst circumstances, they can find meaning—in suffering, in work, in love. Modern therapists use similar techniques when they help clients reframe difficult experiences, asking them to find the "why" that keeps them grounded and moving forward.
Existentialism also shares some DNA with mindfulness, though it approaches the concept a bit differently. Where mindfulness is about being in the present, existentialism is about being fully present even as you confront life's darker truths. Therapies that use mindfulness often borrow from existential thinking by asking clients not just to be here now but to be here now with an awareness of the temporality and uncertainty of existence. This combination is what makes mindfulness practices more than just stress relief. They become a way to engage deeply with life, to savor moments with the knowledge that they won’t last forever—much like a perfect summer day that you know will eventually turn to fall.
One of the most challenging aspects of existentialism is the idea of radical freedom, and this too has found its place in modern therapy. Therapists drawing from existentialist ideas encourage clients to acknowledge their freedom—not just the freedom to choose what to do, but also how to respond to the circumstances they find themselves in. This isn't about telling someone they can have whatever they want if they just believe hard enough (sorry, motivational posters). It’s about the much more sobering realization that, even when things are at their worst, we still have the power to choose our attitude, our actions, and ultimately our direction. Freedom is scary. It means there are no guarantees, no safety nets, but it’s also liberating. It means we're not entirely at the mercy of the universe; we’re co-creators of our experience.
All of this brings us to the big question: what does existential psychotherapy look like today? It’s not just for philosophy majors or people who enjoy a good existential crisis over their morning coffee. It’s for anyone grappling with the fundamental challenges of being human—challenges like finding purpose, dealing with loss, embracing freedom, and connecting with others despite the inherent separateness of individual experience. Existential therapy today is about helping people live more deliberately. It’s about helping clients confront the uncomfortable truths of existence—mortality, freedom, isolation—without turning away or numbing out. It’s not about offering easy answers but about helping people ask the right questions, questions that ultimately lead them to a more meaningful, authentic life.
When it comes down to it, existentialism's influence on modern psychotherapy is all about facing reality, even when it’s messy, scary, or just plain absurd. It’s about taking what the philosophers have written—all those musings about freedom, anxiety, authenticity, and death—and making it practical. Modern therapies inspired by existential thought don’t offer quick fixes or simple solutions. They offer something deeper: the tools to understand yourself better, to accept the inevitabilities of life, and to make choices that feel true to who you are. And really, in a world that can often feel like a giant, chaotic IKEA, isn’t that exactly what we need?
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