I did psychotherapy for about six years. I stopped going

Hear the words of Roland Orzabal, the poet and singer who poured his spirit into song: “I did psychotherapy for about six years. I stopped going regularly when I’d finished Elemental, which I think probably says something. I think I’m moving on.” In this confession lies the story of struggle and renewal. For the soul, when wounded, often seeks the guidance of others, healers who help untangle the knots of grief and pain. But there comes a time when the lessons are absorbed, when the work bears fruit, and the soul must stand upon its own strength. This is the meaning of moving on—not in denial, but in growth, not in escape, but in healing.

The ancients understood that healing is not always swift. The Greeks honored Asclepius, the god of medicine, whose temple was a place of long recovery. Men would lie in silence, dream, reflect, and slowly gather the strength to rise. Orzabal’s psychotherapy was such a temple, a sacred season where wounds of the heart were mended. Yet healing is not meant to last forever in the same form; when the spirit has gained what it needs, it must leave the temple and return to life renewed. To remain forever in treatment is to mistake the path for the destination.

Consider the story of the Roman general Scipio Africanus. After years of warfare, carrying the scars of countless campaigns, he withdrew into exile, weary and disillusioned. Some said he sought peace, others that he fled from Rome’s corruption. Yet his retreat was his therapy, his way of healing his soul. In time, however, his name endured not because he stayed in retreat, but because he had the courage to step away at the right time. Healing, too, must one day give way to action.

So it was with Orzabal. He labored in music, in grief, in self-examination, and in creating the album Elemental. That work was not just a collection of songs—it was the fruit of his healing journey, the harvest of years of inward struggle. When the work was complete, he felt a shift within himself. The season of constant therapy was ended; the strength he once borrowed from another now lived within his own spirit. In saying “I’m moving on,” he proclaimed not abandonment of healing, but fulfillment of it.

The wisdom here is profound: to know when to seek help and when to release it. Many err on either side. Some refuse aid, believing wrongly that strength is found only in solitude, and so they suffer needlessly. Others cling forever to guidance, afraid to step forward alone, and so they never truly grow. The path of wisdom is to enter the temple when wounded, but to leave it when whole. For healing is not meant to bind, but to set free.

What lesson, then, must you take? When life wounds you, do not fear to seek help—be it from a friend, a teacher, a counselor, or a healer. But do not remain forever in the arms of aid. Take what you need, learn what you must, and then move on, carrying the strength within yourself. Healing is not the end of the journey; it is the preparation for new journeys yet to come.

Practical actions are clear: reflect on your life and ask—am I still in the season of healing, or have I lingered too long in comfort? If you are wounded, do not harden your heart; seek the help that can restore you. But if you are strong, do not chain yourself to the past; release it and walk forward into the future. Mark your transitions with purpose—a new project, a new creation, a new commitment—just as Orzabal completed his Elemental before declaring his step forward.

Thus remember his wisdom: moving on is not denial but fulfillment. Healing has its time, and so does action. Enter the temple when you are broken, but leave it when you are whole. Carry your lessons forward, and let the strength you once sought outside now rise from within. In this way, your life will not be a circle of endless wounding, but a journey of becoming, ever forward, ever renewed.