Tarot with Therapy

Outside of my life as a licensed mental health counselor, I teach a couple of short-form classes on tarot. These are usually at festivals that offer workshop spaces for sharing knowledge—one focuses on the history of the cards, and the other on incorporating them into a reflective journaling practice.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the natural intersection between these classes and my clinical work.

I use tarot in my own life as a symbolic practice to expand perspective, deepen reflection, and support discernment. The cards give me images to think with and about. Sometimes they offer a lens that can move a stuck emotion or open a conversation to places direct questioning simply can’t reach.

Let's be clear: tarot, in and of itself, is not an evidence-based psychotherapy. There is no respectable body of research demonstrating that the Seven of Cups treats depression or that the Tower can diagnose your attachment style. I am certainly not going to pretend otherwise, nor do I think tarot needs to predict the future to be useful.

A lot of the people I work with are remarkably thoughtful and introspective. They’ve spent considerable time doing "the work." They can explain precisely where their patterns come from. They know their attachment style. They’ve read the books, worked the processes, and listened to the podcasts.

And yet, they’re still hitting the same wall.

They understand what is happening, but intellectual understanding hasn't helped them move forward.

That is where symbolic work gets interesting. Instead of asking someone to produce yet another explanation for their experience, we can sit with an image and simply ask, “What do you see?”

That subtle shift changes everything.

Imagine someone asking, “What do I need to understand about this relationship?” We draw a card showing a solitary figure. I don't tell them what the card means; instead, we explore:

• What do you notice first?

• What does this figure remind you of?

• What would you tell this person if they were sitting in front of you?

• What changes if you imagine yourself as that figure?

The card hasn't revealed an objective truth. It hasn't diagnosed a disorder, nor has it told us what someone else is secretly thinking. It has simply given the mind something tangible to work with—because people often know things they cannot immediately explain through logic.

Human beings don't process experience exclusively through rational language. We make sense of our lives through stories, images, metaphors, sensations, dreams, and symbols.

That isn't a radical idea. Psychotherapy already relies heavily on these non-linear avenues of human experience. Modalities like expressive arts, guided imagery, narrative therapy, and Jungian analysis all offer ways to engage with material that direct conversation can’t quite touch. Tarot functions in much the same way.

An image can evoke a buried memory. A symbol can illuminate a hidden possibility. A jarring or uncomfortable card can pinpoint exactly what we’re resisting, while an unexpected association can open an entirely new doorway.

The most compelling part of the process isn't what the card inherently means.

It’s what you bring to it—and what you discover in the translation.