Mind the Gap: When Language Sounds Deep but Doesn’t Hold Up

From time to time, I come across workshops, retreats, or practices that sound promising at first glance, but leave me with a vague sense that something doesn’t quite add up.

It’s rarely anything dramatic. No obvious red flags. Just a subtle mismatch between what is being said and what is actually clear, grounded, or testable.

You might recognise some of the language:

• “three shifts that will transform your life”
• “moving from dysregulation into flow”
• “doing the work”
• “inner work”
• “non-ordinary states of consciousness”
• “connecting with your tribe”
• “protecting your energy”

None of these phrases are entirely wrong. But they are often used in ways that are vague enough to mean almost anything, and therefore difficult to question or evaluate.

Take the phrase “doing the work”. What work, exactly? Noticing patterns? Feeling emotion without avoidance? Changing behaviour? Reflecting honestly? Setting limits? Any of these might be part of it. But when the phrase is left undefined, it can create the impression of depth without saying very much at all.

Similarly, I’m cautious of the phrase “non-ordinary states of consciousness”. Human consciousness is variable by nature, and we move through many shifting states each day; attention, distraction, absorption, anxiety, reverie, sleep, and everything in between. The important question is not whether a state is “ordinary” or “non-ordinary,” but what kind of state it is, how it arises, and what effect it has.

The same applies to statements that sound insightful but do not quite hold together. For example: “We have a limited tolerance for overwhelming experiences.” If an experience is overwhelming, it has already exceeded tolerance. A more accurate way to say it would be that we have a limited tolerance for intense experience, and that when experience exceeds what we can manage, we may fall back on familiar ways of coping.

That may seem like a small distinction, but it matters. Clear language often reflects clear thinking. Foggy language can make ordinary ideas sound deeper than they are.

In another context, I noticed a newly built stone circle. It looked the part it had bedded in. But something felt off. No clear sight lines. No evident alignment. Nothing anchoring it to anything beyond its own appearance.

The older sites tend to have a function. They point somewhere. They mark something. They relate to the world beyond themselves.

That difference is subtle, but important.

The same applies to therapeutic work.

Good work tends to be grounded. It can usually be described in plain terms:

• what is happening
• how it works
• what changes

Not everything needs to be reduced to a formula, but it should at least be possible to say something real about it.

For example, rather than “transformation”, we might be looking for things like:

• being able to stay with a difficult feeling a little longer
• noticing a pattern earlier and having more choice in how to respond
• sleep improving, or anxiety reducing in specific situations

Small, observable shifts. Not grand promises.

This doesn’t mean the work is mechanical or cold. It simply means it is anchored.

In my own work, I aim to keep things as clear and grounded as possible. That means avoiding inflated claims, being honest about limits, and focusing on what can actually be noticed and built on over time.

If you’ve ever had the sense that something sounded right but didn’t quite hold up on closer inspection, that instinct is usually worth paying attention to.

It’s often the beginning of something more solid.

There is a line in the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad (1.3.28) that puts it well:

asato mā sad gamaya
From the unreal, lead me to what is real.