Can Hypnosis Help Without Talking About the Past?

Can hypnosis help if I don’t want to talk about what happened?

Absolutely. Let me say that again for the people in the back: you do not have to spill your guts to benefit from hypnosis. In fact, some of my best sessions have been with clients who said something like, "Marc, I really don’t want to talk about it." And my answer is always the same: "Cool. You don’t have to."

You wouldn’t believe how many people think therapy—or any kind of healing—means sitting in a chair and recounting every painful detail of your life like you're auditioning for a trauma documentary. I get it. That’s what a lot of traditional talk therapy looks like. And for some, it works beautifully. But not everyone wants—or needs—to go through all that to feel better.

Sometimes you don’t have the words. Or maybe the words are too sharp to say out loud. Maybe it’s a story you’ve told too many times, and it still stings. Or maybe, like a lot of people I work with, you’re not even sure what the thing is. You just know there’s a weight. Something heavy. Something stuck.

That’s where hypnosis shines.

Here’s the wild part—hypnosis doesn’t need your story. It works with what your subconscious already knows. Think of your conscious mind like the narrator of your life: chatty, logical, always trying to make sense of everything. Meanwhile, your subconscious is the backstage crew—the ones who actually move the sets, change the lights, and keep the whole show running. Hypnosis lets us work directly with that crew, no script required.

So when someone comes in and says, “I don’t want to talk about it,” my job isn’t to pry. My job is to help them feel safe enough to go inward and let their mind do the real work. That’s the beauty of content-free hypnosis. The healing happens beneath the surface, without needing to drag it all into the open.

I’ve worked with clients who’ve experienced everything from grief and loss to trauma, anxiety, shame, and the kind of heartbreak that makes you forget how to breathe. And many of them never said a word about what exactly happened. Some came in and barely made eye contact. Some laughed it off. Some cried before we even started. All of that is welcome. And none of it has to be explained.

I had a client once—let’s call him Adam—who came in after a major life blow. He didn’t tell me what it was. Just said, “Something happened. I feel like I’m not in my body anymore.” That was it. No backstory. No details. And yet, after a few sessions, he messaged me to say, “I finally slept through the night without waking up shaking.”

That’s the kind of shift we’re going for. Not because we dissected what happened, but because we helped his nervous system find its footing again. Because we gave his mind a safe place to rest and rewire.

Hypnosis, especially the way I use it, is a bit like giving your subconscious a warm bath. You slip into a relaxed state—no swinging pocket watches or clucking like a chicken, I promise—and we speak to that deeper part of you that knows how to heal. It’s not about erasing what happened or pretending it didn’t matter. It’s about easing the grip it has on you, so you can move forward without dragging it behind you like a suitcase full of bricks.

Here’s the thing: talking can be helpful. But it’s not the only way. Sometimes it’s not even the best way. There’s a reason why we have phrases like “I can’t even talk about it.” That’s your system protecting itself. That’s your body saying, “Not yet.” And if that’s where you are, then that’s exactly where we start.

People often ask me, “But if I don’t tell you what’s wrong, how will you know what to do?”

The answer? I don’t need to know. You already do. Even if you don’t consciously have the words, your subconscious does. It knows what’s tangled and what needs untangling. My job is to help you create the conditions where that process can happen—gently, safely, and in your own time.

It’s kind of like gardening. You don’t yell at the soil and demand an explanation for why the plant isn’t growing. You tend it. You water it. You pull a few weeds. And then—one day—it blooms. Hypnosis is the same. It’s not about interrogating the problem. It’s about nurturing the parts of you that already know how to heal.

And let me say this, too—there’s a difference between healing and fixing. You’re not broken. You might feel broken. You might feel like something shattered and the pieces will never fit back together. But that feeling? That’s temporary. That’s your mind reacting to pain, not a permanent truth.

One of the things I love most about this work is watching people come back to themselves. Not because they finally figured out the exact moment everything went sideways, but because they allowed themselves to soften. To breathe. To feel safe inside their own skin again. That’s powerful.

If this is resonating, if your body’s nodding along even while your brain’s going, “Wait, what?”, then maybe it’s time to try something different. Maybe it’s time to stop trying to make sense of everything and start giving yourself permission to feel better, even without the full story.

And if you’re still worried—if there’s a part of you that’s thinking, “This sounds great, but my thing is different”—that’s okay. Everyone feels that way at first. But healing doesn’t care how big or small the thing is. Pain is pain. And you don’t have to explain yours to deserve peace.

If you’re curious, I offer something called a Mental Detox. It’s a great place to start if you’ve been carrying around too much for too long. We don’t dig through your history—we help you release the pressure that’s been building in the background. Think of it like taking your mind to the spa. No small talk required.

At the end of the day, you don’t have to talk about what happened. You don’t have to name it, describe it, or explain it. You just have to show up. Your mind will handle the rest.

And if you ever do feel like talking, I’ll be here. But if all you want is to sit quietly, close your eyes, and let go of the weight you’ve been carrying—I’ll be here for that, too.

Because healing doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it sounds like silence. Sometimes it feels like stillness. And sometimes, that’s where the real magic begins.

Want to find out what that feels like? Let’s talk—or not talk. Either way, I’ve got you.