Don’t Take the Bait
Sometimes the advice is simple: don’t take the bait. Notice what changes as you read or listen—and what’s pulling the line.
Take time to read—or listen—and notice what you catch.
A client once told me that his previous therapist kept repeating the same advice about how he handled his anger in his marriage: “Don’t take the bait.”
He said that if he knew how to do that, he wouldn’t need therapy.
These four words have become the focus of my work with this courageous man—as well as with many others I sit with, including some of my own wounded child parts.
Clients often come into therapy already knowing a lot about what they’ve done wrong. Some are told the obvious—but no one looks underneath to see what’s actually pulling the hook.
I hear my mom saying, “Don’t fight with your brother. Be a good boy.” She doesn’t seem to care why I’m upset. And I’m not sure myself.
Now I know that shaming isn’t good parenting, good friendship, or good therapy. And it definitely isn't good medicine… especially when you have to step on the scale when you walk in the room.
For many, the only thing it confirms is that they aren’t good enough, and worse—they’re a bad person.
Now, when I'm with this loving man and he feels upset by something someone is doing or saying, I encourage him to drop down and notice what's happening inside.
At first, he struggles to separate out the part that’s blended with the truth about himself—his Core Self. But then, after riding the waves of darkness without getting pulled under, he begins to see his truth and find his voice.
He realizes that it’s okay to be himself and set clear boundaries with others—not by striking back in an aggressive way, either verbally or physically—or getting down on himself.
Leaning into his experience within and between, I find myself delighting in the fact that he already knows so much about himself and wants to learn more. Especially, that no one has a right to put him down or manipulate him.
He nods slightly when I say manipulate, and I ask him what he’s noticing inside. He replies, “I always felt like there were strings attached to everything I did—like I couldn’t just be loved for who I am. I never understood that… because I know I’m a good person.”
Nodding my head, I say, “I know you know that, and I will hold the light until you find your own, inside. Our work isn’t just about what happened to you… it’s also about what didn’t happen that you needed.”
Seeing him smile, I add, “Let’s slow it down and do a little fishing. You never know what you’ll catch. Sometimes the little things are our biggest treasures.”
Looking into my eyes, he pauses, then says, “Wow… I never knew that. My worth isn’t about others giving me approval. I’ve always been good enough.”
I add, “That’s your Core Self.”
Another client, further down the road, comes to mind—like so many who struggle to see the light inside. She tells me that her estranged father just emailed her—a somewhat annual tradition, to apologize for everything he ever did to hurt her.
Seeing that this isn’t sitting well, I ask her to notice what’s happening inside. She says, “My father surprised me with his declaration of love, but it’s hard to trust. I know what will happen—it always does. But I’m tempted to take the bait.”
Looking me in the eyes, she asks, “That’s what good daughters are supposed to do—right?”
Feeling the conflict inside—not taking the bait myself—I slow it down and make room for her experience, saying, “Let's do some fishing… together. Imagine your fishing pole is like an antenna—it helps you find the truth.”
Taking my lead, she invites the child part into the room between us, making it clear that she doesn’t live in the past anymore, and that she’s safe now—with herself, the caring woman she’s become, her own internal caregiver.
As we think about the big fish yanking on her hook, she begins to see her own light more clearly. There’s a choice now—to say or do what‘s right for herself. And that doesn’t mean everyone is going to like it.
Then the words flow: “I’m not bait. And I won’t give up myself for anyone.”
She realizes that the fish is just a child, and she doesn’t need to take the bait any longer—even for what promises to be the biggest fish in the ocean. Like her father, that goes for people who say they have all the answers—the ones who think they own the ocean… even the ice that covers it.
I gently ask, “What do you want to tell your little one now?”
Thoughtfully, she replies, “It doesn’t matter what you do or say… I may not like it—and I’ll help you learn something different—but I’ll always love you.”
As our eyes meet, wide open, I say, “Wow—that’s it. Nothing can change that. That's how the story needs to end—and it’s ending now... as a new one emerges. Notice what that’s like for the child to hear.”
After a long pause, the kind woman softly states, “The little one feels much better knowing that I understand… I don’t have to be so hard on myself—or yell at my kids—inside or out. I just have to teach them the right way to fish—no strings attached—to themselves or anyone else—especially me.”
Shaking my head in amazement, I respond, “You’re home now in your Core Self. You aren’t just surviving—you’re really living. And you’ll never be alone.”
In unison, we both place our hands on our hearts.
To all of you reading or listening to these words, notice how you’re feeling inside. If it feels right, let your hand rest on your heart—or just imagine feeling all of ours… together.
If you go out fishing, don’t worry if you don’t catch anything. You may already sense… the biggest fish is inside you. You know that. And you know… that I know that, too.
Have a great dinner tonight. Maybe I’ll join you sometime—for a little fish and chips. Oh yeah… with some “öl brew,” a special non-alcoholic malt beverage a dear friend gave to the world.
It’ll help wash down some of the tough stuff in life that tends to get stuck—making room for what’s been there all along… and who we’re becoming.
That’s who we were always meant to be—closer together.
I'm sure we’ll talk about what that’s like as we sit in the shadow of a glowing sun, our antennas held high—listening to the world with our third ear.
Now… what’s that like when you don’t take the bait—or aren’t the bait?
I know you know... the light of invisibility—the space within, between, and through time.
Yes… home at last. And I didn't even catch any fish.
That’s the catch.
Gratitude: In appreciation of those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Here’s a link to some of that sweetness… öl brew.
Confidentiality note: The above story is a composite, drawn from therapeutic encounters over the years. Some details have been altered to protect confidentiality while preserving the truth of the experience. If my words feel familiar, it may be because our lives so often echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
About the author: Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model grounded in our capacity for adaptive change to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility, bringing life to therapy—and therapy to life.