In our post-Covid, digital age, it’s hardly surprising that online therapy is experiencing a boom. At the forefront of this movement sits a behemoth: the world's largest online therapy platform, offering convenient, 24/7 access to therapists via video, phone, chat and even text message. These aggressively marketed platforms pride themselves on breaking down the barriers to traditional therapy by making it more accessible - but it's worth asking what else might be getting broken down along the way.
Convenience at any cost
I'll start with their most celebrated selling point: accessibility and convenience. These platforms encourage us to believe we'll never truly be without our therapist. When things feel overwhelming and we're on the brink of falling apart, we’re told we should be able to reach out - via call, message or text - and be reconnected instantly with the steadying presence of our therapist. In fact the therapists are paid on an engagement-based model making multiple interactions with the same client across different mediums financially beneficial. On the surface, everyone is happy - or are they?
A therapist can (and should) only be with each client for a limited amount of time each week. That limitation isn't a flaw; it's part of what gives the work its shape and weight. Both therapist and client are bound by time, and this boundary creates a sense of urgency that encourages meaning to emerge. It's easy to underestimate how demanding this kind of psychological work can be. Clients often avoid what feels most difficult, only raising it when it finally feels safe - sometimes right as the session is ending. As frustrating as this can be, the disappointment of a missed opportunity can itself be deeply instructive, allowing both client and therapist to notice the avoidance and begin to understand how it shows up elsewhere in the client's life. When access to your therapist is constant, however, avoidance becomes easier to sustain. After all, there's always another opportunity tomorrow…or later tonight…or whenever you feel like it.
When support starts to undermine growth
A more serious concern with the 24/7 model is the risk of fostering a co-dependent dynamic between client and therapist. In any therapeutic relationship, it's common to experience the therapist as resembling a parent - sometimes the parent you wished you'd had. Being emotionally held by someone whose sole focus is helping you make sense of your inner world can echo an idealised parent-child relationship. This can be profoundly moving, especially for those who missed out on that care the first time around. But while the pull toward comfort and regression is understandable, good therapy is always oriented toward growth. The goal is autonomy: developing the belief that you can face the world as an adult, despite what came before. The promise of a therapist who is always available risks reinforcing the opposite message - that you are small, the world is vast, and you couldn't possibly manage it alone. It quietly dismisses the importance of the space between sessions, which is often where real change takes place. As with good parenting, the aim of therapy is that, when the time is right, you move forward independently and no longer need your therapist at all.
Swipe culture comes to therapy
Large online platforms also promote themselves heavily on their matching and personalisation features. If you don't like your therapist, you're told, you can request a new one at any time - as many times as you like. There's often a ‘change therapist' button tucked neatly into the account settings, allowing you to discard one therapist in favour of another with minimal friction. Much like dating apps, this can encourage the idea that people are interchangeable units within an endless supply - an approach that risks dehumanising both client and therapist and the relationship they're meant to build together. Compounding this dehumanisation is the sad reality that the therapists on these platforms work for well below market rate, making working excessive hours the only way to guarantee a sustainable income. This is a recipe for burnout and may explain the revolving door of practitioners these platforms employ. We do not want an overworked, exhausted therapist any more than we would want an overworked, exhausted surgeon removing our appendix.
Why connection takes time
Of course, no one should stay with a therapist who makes them feel unsafe or fundamentally misunderstood. But it's also entirely normal not to trust a therapist straight away. Why would you? They're a stranger. Rapport takes time, as does the slow work of feeling genuinely understood. Both dating and therapy suffer from the same misconception: that compatibility either exists instantly or not at all, and that a lack of immediate ‘chemistry' is reason enough to walk away. In reality, compatibility is often something that's built - sometimes awkwardly, sometimes slowly - through mutual effort and patience. Paradoxically, too much choice can keep us circling endlessly, never quite committing to the very thing we're longing for: a real, meaningful connection.
Therapy as a psychological home
It can feel like an incredibly daunting task to find a therapist when there are so many different types and disciplines out there, so it's no wonder that large online platforms are so popular. When you're already struggling, the promise of something quick and straightforward can be very appealing. However, the convenience and vibes based model that these large-scale online therapy platforms promote is at its core a scalable, commercially driven model. We need to be careful not to place convenience above quality and to accept a diluted and ultimately limited version of therapy - one that risks eroding our faith in the healing power of talk therapy at precisely the moment many of us need it most.
If you were looking for a new home, you would likely spend time and energy thinking about what you were looking for before arranging a viewing. And when you did find a house that felt right, it would probably come with both positives and compromises, which you'd have to weigh carefully before deciding to move in. It is not impossible that you might find the perfect house, at the perfect price on the perfect street but more likely you commit because you feel on balance you can make it work. Therapy can be thought of in a similar way - as a kind of psychological home that you inhabit with your therapist as you work things through, imperfectly and over time.
What therapy is really for
Contrary to popular opinion, it is not the job of a therapist to dish out advice or to always say kind and supportive things. A therapist is there only to help their client make sense of, and give meaning to, their thoughts and feelings. This may mean that sometimes we love our therapist, and at other times we may hate them. In a world of convenience, where a desire barely has to be felt before it is satisfied, and where we are increasingly told we should always feel comfortable, we are slowly losing our capacity to tolerate even minor deprivations. The work of therapy moves in the opposite direction. It is about building up and strengthening our ability to tolerate uncertainty, frustration and suffering, rather than rushing to make them disappear. In this sense, it is the gradual working-through and building of a relationship with a therapist - not the search for a perfect fit - that ultimately allows us to feel better. In a world of endless choice, growth may come not from having more options, but from choosing one and staying with it.