Finding Meaning in Suffering: Therapy and the Catholic Understanding of the Cross

Peter Attridge, PhD, LMFT

As a therapist, I often find myself sitting across from individuals grappling with the raw, unsettling reality of suffering. It’s an undeniable aspect of the human condition, isn't it? Whether it emerges from the searing pain of loss, the relentless grip of illness, the sting of injustice, or the quiet battles waged within our own hearts, suffering has a way of leaving us feeling adrift, hopeless, and questioning the very fabric of our existence. In my practice, I’ve witnessed countless times how people search for a beacon of meaning in these darkest of hours. And what a privilege it is to walk alongside them, guiding them not only with the insights of modern psychology but also with the profound wisdom of our Catholic faith, drawing upon the transformative power of the Cross.


The Therapist’s Lens: Holding Space for Pain and Cultivating Meaning

When someone walks into my office, burdened by suffering, my first and most sacred task is to simply be there. To create a safe, supportive space where they can unpack the heavy emotional and psychological impact of what they're enduring. It's a space free of judgment, where tears are welcome, and anger, fear, and despair can be expressed without shame.


In the world of therapy, we have a number of powerful approaches that specifically address these deep questions of meaning and purpose in the face of adversity. Take, for instance, Existential Therapy. This approach, at its heart, is about helping individuals confront the inherent anxieties of existence – the big questions about life, death, freedom, isolation, and meaning. It doesn’t shy away from the harsh realities of suffering but rather encourages clients to lean into these experiences, to find agency and responsibility in their response (Yalom, 1980). We explore their values, asking: "What truly matters to you? What principles guide your life, especially when things are falling apart?" It’s in identifying these core values that a sense of purpose can begin to emerge, even amidst the chaos.


Then there's Meaning-Centered Psychotherapy, which builds directly on these ideas. Here, the focus is more explicitly on helping individuals discover or rediscover sources of meaning in their lives. This isn't about imposing meaning; it's about helping the person unearth what genuinely resonates with their spirit. It might be through creative expression, service to others, cultivating relationships, or simply by the attitude they choose to adopt in the face of unavoidable suffering (Frankl, 2006). We work on developing coping strategies that don't just numb the pain but actively foster resilience. We learn to sit with discomfort, to process grief in all its messy stages, to manage chronic pain, and to find ways to adapt to circumstances that may never fully resolve.


As a therapist, I see my role as an illumination – shining a light on the pathways to healing and adaptation. We explore past wounds, identify unhelpful thought patterns, and build healthier emotional regulation skills. It's about empowering the individual, helping them to find their own internal resources and strengths to navigate their journey. But for me, as a Catholic, there's always another layer, a deeper truth that informs my understanding of suffering.


The Catholic Heart: The Transformative Power of the Cross

This is where the profound beauty of our Catholic faith truly comes into play. While therapy provides invaluable tools for how to cope, Catholicism offers a unique, profound perspective on why we suffer and what purpose that suffering can ultimately serve. It’s through the lens of the Cross that we begin to understand.


Think of Jesus Christ. He, who was innocent, blameless, and divine, willingly embraced suffering, humiliation, and death. And He did it not because suffering is inherently good, but out of an unfathomable, redemptive love for humanity. His Passion and Death weren't just a historical event; they were a profound act of self-giving that fundamentally transformed suffering itself. It shifted it from a seemingly meaningless burden into a potential source of redemption, a path to deeper union with God (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1997).


I often share with my clients the words of St. Paul from his Letter to the Romans (5:3-5), words that resonate so deeply with the Christian experience: "And not only so, but we glory also in tribulations, knowing that tribulation worketh patience: And patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope confoundeth not: because the charity of God is poured forth in our hearts, by the Holy Ghost, who is given to us. (Romans 5:3-5, Douay-Rheims translation).


This isn't a call to masochism, nor does it mean we should ever seek out pain. Our God is a God of love, and He desires our flourishing, not our misery. The Catholic understanding of "redemptive suffering" means that when we, in our humility and faith, unite our own trials with Christ’s suffering on the Cross, our difficulties can take on a new, sacred meaning and purpose (Pope John Paul II, 1984).


This union can manifest in many ways. It might involve offering our struggles, our headaches, our disappointments, our grief, or our chronic pain for the intentions of others – for the souls in purgatory, for a sick friend, for a struggling family member, for the salvation of the world. It’s a profound act of love, turning our own suffering outwards in solidarity with others and with Christ.


Through this process, we often find ourselves growing in unexpected ways. We cultivate compassion and empathy for those who also suffer, recognizing our shared humanity. We become less self-absorbed and more attuned to the needs of others. Our faith deepens as we lean more heavily on God's grace, realizing our own limitations and His boundless strength. It’s a paradox: in embracing our weakness and vulnerability, we find true spiritual strength.


Echoes of Hope: The Lives of the Saints

Sometimes, when a client feels utterly overwhelmed and questions how anyone could possibly endure what they are experiencing, I turn to the stories of the saints. Their lives are powerful testaments to the human capacity for finding profound meaning in the midst of unimaginable trials.


Consider the unwavering faith of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, who endured profound spiritual darkness and physical suffering in her final years, yet clung to her "little way" of love and trust, offering every discomfort to God. Or St. Padre Pio, who bore the visible wounds of Christ in the stigmata, living a life of constant physical pain yet pouring out spiritual guidance and healing to countless souls. Think of St. Maximilian Kolbe, who offered his life in exchange for another in a concentration camp, an ultimate act of self-giving love rooted in his faith.


These aren't just historical figures; they are companions on our journey. Their stories remind us that even in the darkest valleys, God’s grace is sufficient to sustain us. They show us that suffering, when united with Christ, can indeed become a crucible for holiness, bringing forth spiritual growth and a deeper union with God that transcends earthly understanding. Their lives offer a profound witness to the truth that suffering, while never desired, can be transformed into a source of enduring hope.

 

Weaving the Threads: Therapy and Faith in Harmony

So, how do I, as a Catholic therapist, weave these threads together in my practice? It’s not about choosing one over the other, but rather seeing them as complementary paths leading to holistic healing and deeper meaning.


When a client is experiencing intense grief, for example, we'll use therapeutic techniques to process the emotions: validating their sadness, acknowledging the pain of loss, and helping them develop healthy coping mechanisms. We might explore the stages of grief, identify triggers, and work on rebuilding a life after loss. But alongside this, if they are open to it, we can explore the spiritual dimension of their grief. We can talk about the hope of resurrection, the communion of saints, and how their love for the departed can continue, transformed by prayer and intercession. We can explore how God is present even in the deepest sorrow, holding them in their pain.


Similarly, if someone is struggling with chronic illness and the limitations it imposes, therapy can help them adjust to their new reality, manage frustration, and prevent isolation. We can work on cognitive reframing – changing negative thought patterns – and finding new ways to engage with life and purpose. From a Catholic perspective, we can also discuss how their illness, though difficult, can be offered as a prayer, how it can be a means of drawing closer to Christ in His suffering, and how it can be a source of grace for others. We can explore the idea of finding joy in small moments, of radiating peace even amidst discomfort, and of trusting in God's plan even when it's unclear.


The beauty of integrating therapy with Catholic principles is that it offers a truly holistic approach. Psychotherapy helps us understand our human nature – our emotions, our thoughts, our behaviors, and our relationships – and provides practical strategies for navigating life's challenges. It helps us to heal past wounds, build resilience, and live more fully in the present moment. The Catholic faith, on the other hand, provides the ultimate context for our suffering, infusing it with divine meaning, offering hope that transcends earthly limitations, and connecting us to something far greater than ourselves.


The Journey of Meaning

Ultimately, the journey of finding meaning in suffering is a deeply personal one. It’s not about denying the pain or sugarcoating hardship. It's about acknowledging the reality of suffering, bravely facing its challenges, and then, with the help of both therapeutic wisdom and the grace of God, discovering the seeds of hope, growth, and even joy that can blossom within it.


As a Catholic therapist, my greatest hope for my clients is that they leave my office not just with coping skills, but with a renewed sense of purpose and an abiding conviction that even in their darkest hours, they are not alone. That Christ is with them, carrying their burdens, and that their suffering, when united with His, can become a profound source of meaning, bringing them closer to God and transforming them into vessels of His love for the world. It’s a challenging path, yes, but it’s a path that ultimately leads to true healing, enduring hope, and a deeper encounter with the unconditional love of God.


If anything in this post resonated with you, know that you don’t have to navigate it alone. At Holy Family Counseling Center, we’re here to support you with compassionate, evidence-based care tailored to your unique story. Whether you're just starting to explore therapy or ready to take the next step, we’d love to talk. Reach out today to schedule a free consultation or ask any questions—we’re here to help.



References:

Catechism of the Catholic Church. (1997). Part One, Section Two, Chapter Two, Article 4, Paragraph 618. Libreria Editrice Vaticana.

Frankl, V. E. (2006). Man's Search for Meaning. Beacon Press. (Original work published 1946).

Pope John Paul II. (1984). Salvifici Doloris (On the Christian Meaning of Human Suffering). Libreria Editrice Vaticana.

Romans 5:3-5 (New American Bible Revised Edition).

Yalom, I. D. (1980). Existential Psychotherapy. Basic Books.





By Peter Attridge, PhD, LMFT January 16, 2026
As the calendar turns and the glitter of the Christmas Season begins to settle into the quiet, gray periphery of January, there is a collective pressure to "reset". We are inundated with messages about the "New You", usually packaged in the form of rigid resolutions or the sudden, frantic desire to fix everything that felt broken in the previous year. As a therapist, I often see the fallout of this "Resolution Culture" in my office. By the second or third week of January, many of my clients feel a sense of premature failure. They set a bar based on a fleeting burst of midnight motivation, and when the reality of daily life—the fatigue, the stress, the old habits—returns, they feel more discouraged than they did in December. This year, I want to invite you to step away from the secular treadmill of self-improvement and instead lean into the liturgical rhythm of the Church. We are currently in the season of Epiphany , a time that offers a much more compassionate and profound framework for personal growth than any gym membership or habit-tracker ever could. Moving Beyond the New Year, New Me Myth One problem with New Year’s resolutions is that they are often rooted in a rejection of self. We look at our flaws and say, "I must delete this version of myself and install a better one". From both a psychological and a Catholic perspective, this is a flawed starting point. In therapy, we know that true, lasting change doesn't come from self-hatred; it comes from integration . In Catholic teaching, we are reminded that we are already "fearfully and wonderfully made". Our goal isn't to become someone else, but to become more fully who God created us to be. Instead of resolutions, let’s look at this time of year from a different perspective, that of the Epiphany —the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles, represented by the journey of the Magi. The Wisdom of the Magi: A Different Kind of Journey The journey of the Wise Men wasn't a race; it was a long, arduous, and patient trek guided by a singular light. They didn't have a 12-step plan to change who they were; they had a star. 1. Finding Your "Star" (Values vs. Goals) In clinical practice, we often distinguish between goals and values. A goal is something you can check off a list (e.g., lose ten pounds). A value is a direction you move in (e.g., caring for the temple of the Holy Spirit). The Magi followed a star—a distant, steady light. They didn't reach it in a day. As you look at this new year, ask yourself: What is my star? Is it a deeper capacity for patience? Is it a commitment to silence? Is it the courage to set boundaries that protect your peace? When we focus on the "star" (the value) rather than a rigid "resolution" (the goal), we allow room for the journey to be messy. If the Magi took a wrong turn, they didn't go home; they looked back up at the sky and corrected their course. 2. The Gifts: Inventory, Not Deletion The Magi brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They brought what they had. In this season, I encourage you to do a "Soul Inventory." Instead of looking at what you lack, look at what you are carrying. What are the "gifts" of your personality? What are the "myrrhs"—the bitter pains or griefs—that you are currently holding? In the therapeutic process, we bring these things into the light. In the Catholic tradition, we offer them to the Christ Child. Nothing is wasted. Even your struggles are gifts in the sense that they are the raw material God uses for your sanctification. Epiphany as a Bridge to Lent Many people see January as a vacuum and February as a countdown to Lent. But the Church, in her wisdom, uses this time as a bridge. Epiphany is about revelation —seeing things as they truly are. If Lent is the season of "doing" (e.g., fasting, almsgiving, prayer), then the weeks following Epiphany are the season of "seeing." You cannot effectively fast from a habit if you don't understand the hunger it’s trying to fill. You cannot give alms with a joyful heart if you haven't recognized the abundance God has already given you. Preparing the Soil Think of this time as "tilling the soil." Before a farmer plants (Lent), he must clear the rocks and turn the earth. This is the psychological work of January and February. Observation without Judgment: Spend these weeks simply noticing your patterns. When do you feel most anxious? When do you feel most distant from God? Don't try to fix it yet. Just see it. The Power of Another Way: After meeting Jesus, the Magi "departed for their country by another way" (Matthew 2:12). This is a beautiful metaphor for the therapeutic journey. Once you encounter the truth—whether in the confessional or the therapist’s chair—you cannot simply go back to the old routes. You are invited to find a "new way" home. Practical Soul-Work for the Season Since we are moving away from the pressure of resolutions, how do we actually use this time? Here are a few "low-pressure, high-grace" suggestions for the weeks ahead: 1. Practice The Examen - St. Ignatius of Loyola gave us a brilliant psychological tool in the Daily Examen. At the end of the day, don't list your failures. Instead, ask: Where did I see God's light today? * Where did I turn away from it? This builds the "muscle" of awareness that you will need when Lent arrives. 2. Identify Your "Herod" - In the Epiphany story, Herod represents the ego, the fear, and the desire for control that feels threatened by the "New King" (grace). What is the Herod in your life right now? Is it a need for perfection? Is it a specific resentment you’re clinging to? Recognizing your internal Herod is the first step toward preventing it from sabotaging your spiritual growth. 3. Rest as a Spiritual Discipline - The Magi traveled far, but they also stopped. Our culture demands constant production. But in the quiet of winter, the earth rests. Allow yourself a Sabbath of the Mind. If you are feeling burnt out, the most Catholic and psychologically sound thing you can do isn't to add a new prayer routine, but to sleep an extra hour and acknowledge your human limitations. We are creatures, not the Creator. Looking Toward the Desert Soon enough, the ashes will be placed on our foreheads, and we will enter the desert of Lent. But we don't have to rush there. If we spend this Epiphany season truly following our "star"—seeking the truth of who we are and who Christ is—we won't enter Lent out of a sense of should or guilt. Instead, we will enter Lent like people who have seen a Great Light. We will fast because we’ve realized we are hungry for something better than what the world offers. We will pray because we’ve realized we can’t make the journey alone. A Final Thought from the Couch If you find yourself struggling this January—if the New Year energy feels more like a heavy weight than a fresh start—take a deep breath. You are not a project to be solved. You are a person to be loved. The Magi didn't find a palace; they found a child in a humble, probably messy, stable. God meets you in the messy stable of your current life—not the perfected palace of your resolutions. This year, let’s stop trying to resolve our lives and start trying to reveal them. Let the light of the Epiphany show you the way, one small, patient step at a time. Walking Together at Holy Family Counseling Center If navigating these internal movements feels overwhelming, remember that you don’t have to follow the star alone. At Holy Family Counseling Center , we specialize in walking alongside individuals and families as they integrate their psychological health with their Catholic faith. Whether you are struggling to identify your Herod or simply need a safe space to process the myrrh in your life, our clinicians are here to help you find that other way toward healing and peace.
By Peter Attridge, PhD November 11, 2025
As a Catholic therapist, I often sit with clients who are wrestling with a deeply human question: When is it the right time to make amends ? Whether it’s reaching out to someone who has hurt them, or considering their own responsibility in a fractured relationship, the process of healing often leads us into the tender territory of reconciliation. But forgiveness and reconciliation aren’t the same thing. Forgiveness is something we’re called to offer freely—an act of the will that releases resentment and gives us peace, even when the other person hasn’t apologized. Reconciliation, on the other hand, is a step that involves two people. And discerning when—or even if—that step should be taken requires wisdom, prayer, and often, boundaries. Let’s explore how we can approach this process with care and courage, supported by both therapeutic tools and the richness of our Catholic faith. Discerning the Right Time to Make Amends Discernment is a familiar concept in Catholic life. We use it to seek God's will in big decisions—vocations, careers, relationships. But it’s just as important in the smaller, more personal moments too, like choosing when to reach out to someone who has hurt us, or someone we may have hurt. Therapy can be a valuable space for this kind of discernment. Sometimes the desire to make amends comes from a sincere place of healing and readiness. Other times, it may be driven by guilt, pressure, or a longing for closure that the other person may not be able to give. In our sessions, I often help clients explore their motivations. Are you seeking peace, or permission? Healing, or validation? Discernment is about honesty—with yourself, with God, and with your emotional limits. St. Ignatius of Loyola offers a helpful framework for discernment rooted in prayerful reflection, noticing the movements of the heart. If the thought of reconciliation brings a sense of peace, courage, and compassion, it may be time. If it stirs anxiety, dread, or a sense of obligation, it may be wise to wait, or to approach things differently. The Role of Boundaries in Forgiveness and Healing One of the most common misconceptions I hear, especially among people of faith, is that setting boundaries is somehow un-Christian. But in truth, boundaries are acts of love —toward ourselves and others. They help define what is safe, respectful, and life-giving in a relationship. Forgiveness does not mean allowing someone to continue harming us. Christ calls us to forgive, yes, even “seventy times seven” times (Matthew 18:22), but He does not call us to abandon prudence or endure abuse. Remember, even Jesus withdrew from hostile crowds at times (John 10:39), and He taught that reconciliation involves both repentance and change (Luke 17:3-4). In therapy, we often work on developing “healthy boundaries” that allow us to engage with others from a place of strength and safety. For example, it’s okay to forgive a parent for past wounds without allowing them to manipulate your present life. It’s okay to love a sibling from a distance if closeness continues to result in harm. And it’s okay to hope for reconciliation without forcing it to happen. Boundaries are not walls; they are gates. They give us the freedom to let people in—but only when it is healthy and appropriate to do so. Making Amends with Compassion and Clarity If and when the time does come to make amends, whether as the person extending forgiveness or the one asking for it, approaching the conversation with humility and clarity is essential. We can take inspiration from the Sacrament of Reconciliation, where the process of confession involves examining our conscience, naming our sins, expressing true contrition, and receiving both forgiveness and guidance. Similarly, when making amends in our personal lives, we begin by acknowledging what happened—not defensively, but honestly. We share how the situation has affected us. We listen. We don’t demand immediate restoration, but we open the door to it. And sometimes, we might take that step and find that the other person isn’t ready. Or they respond with defensiveness, denial, or more harm. That’s when we return to our boundaries. Forgiveness is still possible, but reconciliation may need to remain a hope rather than a present reality. Spiritual Guidance Along the Way Throughout this process, our faith can be an anchor. Prayer becomes a conversation with the God who knows every wound and walks with us through every step of healing. The saints offer examples of both radical forgiveness and wise discernment. St. Monica, for instance, teaches us about perseverance in love and prayer without enabling harmful behavior. St. Maria Goretti’s story is often cited for her forgiveness, but we also remember her clarity in saying no to harm. And of course, the Sacraments nourish us. Receiving the Eucharist strengthens us to love like Christ. Confession helps us experience God’s mercy, so we can extend it more freely to others. Spiritual direction can also be helpful when navigating complex relationships and emotional burdens through a faith-based lens. Trusting the Slow Work of Healing Making amends and setting boundaries aren’t one-time decisions. They are part of an ongoing, unfolding process of healing. We may feel ready one day and hesitant the next. That’s okay. Forgiveness is not linear, and relationships—especially broken ones—rarely heal overnight. But I’ve seen firsthand the beauty that emerges when people engage in this work with courage. When they honor both their pain and their desire for peace. When they protect their hearts with boundaries, but still remain open to love. And when they trust that, even if reconciliation is not possible now, it may one day be—with God’s grace. In Conclusion If you’re in the midst of wrestling with whether to make amends, take heart. It’s not an easy decision, and it doesn’t have to be rushed. Therapy can offer tools and support. Your faith can offer wisdom and hope. And both can help you move forward with peace. Forgiveness will always be a part of the journey. But reconciliation? That’s something we discern, with prayer and prudence. And no matter where you land—whether you reach out, stay silent, or hold space from afar—you are not alone in the journey. If you haven’t yet read Part One of this series, I encourage you to explore the foundations of forgiveness and healing in both therapy and Catholic tradition. That post dives into the inner process of releasing pain and embracing God’s mercy—a powerful first step before considering reconciliation. May you be filled with gentleness, wisdom, and the peace that comes from the One who forgave us first. Forgiveness can feel impossible at times—but it’s also one of the most healing gifts we can give ourselves. If you're carrying the weight of resentment or hurt and feel ready to explore a path toward release and peace, therapy can help. At Holy Family Counseling Center , we create a safe space to process the past, understand your emotions, and move forward with intention. Connect with us when you're ready—we’re here to walk that path with you.
By Peter Attridge, PhD October 27, 2025
Forgiveness & Healing: Therapy and Catholic Perspectives on Reconciliation