From tables to chairs
For years I worked with my thoughts.
I analyzed them, restructured them, neatly organized them into columns, and when everything seemed clear, I put them under the microscope again—just to be safe.
That’s how we, CBT-trained therapists, are: orderly, attentive, with a weakness for reason and logic.
But, no matter how precise a table of automatic thoughts is, sometimes the mind is silent and the body speaks .
And then, logic looks around… and sees a chair.
A simple, banal one, but capable of holding not only the body, but also an entire story.
In the office, chairs are no longer just for sitting.
Sometimes, one of them takes the place of a thought that refuses to be silenced.
Another becomes the “critical voice” – the one that knows exactly how we should be.
And somewhere, in a corner, sits the vulnerable voice – the one that has never been fully listened to.
With a little imagination, an empty chair can become:
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a forgotten emotion,
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a dear person,
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a part of you that has hidden itself under “reason and control.”
Yes, the chair has many uses. But the most surprising is that of an emotional mirror .
When the chair becomes a therapist
The first time I used chairwork , I felt a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.
I admit, it seemed a little theatrical.
But when the client moved from one chair to the other and allowed herself to speak from the role of the critic, then from the role of the hurt child, something changed in the room.
The air filled with emotion, and logic took a step back—somehow grateful that it didn’t have to explain everything.
In a world of structured thoughts, chairwork is an act of freedom.
It transforms analysis into dialogue .
And instead of a discussion of thoughts, a conversation between the parts of the self emerges.
Three chairs, three perspectives
Sometimes I use three chairs:
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The inner critic – the voice that says “it’s not enough.”
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The vulnerable part – the one that feels, but is not heard.
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The gentle observer – the party that listens to both and begins to bring about reconciliation.
And often, after a few exchanges, the critic becomes protective, the vulnerable relaxes, and the observer smiles. In an hour, you’ve witnessed a reconstruction of an inner relationship — without a textbook, with just three chairs and a lot of presence.
Why it works
Beyond magic, the explanation is simple: chairwork activates all the channels through which we process reality — visual, auditory, bodily, emotional. Thought becomes voice, emotion becomes movement, the body remembers.
It’s, in a way, CBT with heart and movement .
And yes, it works even for those who say, “I don’t believe in these kinds of exercises.” Usually, after five minutes, I do.
When the chair becomes an invitation
In the end, there remains a simple lesson:
not all changes start in the head. Some start… in the chair.
So the next time you’re about to fill out a cognitive distortion chart, it might be worth stopping for a moment and asking,
“What would the chair say if it could talk?”
You might find out something your mind had already forgotten.
Sometimes therapy begins with a thought. Sometimes, with a chair.