Arrogant Therapist Tried to Psychoanalyze Me – I Analyzed His Bank Account

I once had a therapist stand in my courtroom and try to analyze my psychological motivations while I was trying to address his reckless driving.

Let me tell you something that still amazes me to this day. Therapy is important work. Mental health matters. I respect people who dedicate their lives to helping others work through their problems. But here’s what I’ve learned in my 40 years on the bench: sometimes the people who spend all day analyzing others have never taken a good hard look at themselves. And this therapist proved that in the most spectacular way I’ve ever witnessed.

This case wasn’t complicated on paper. Reckless driving, speeding in a school zone, endangering children. But what happened in my courtroom that day was something I’ll never forget. It showed me how someone can be intelligent, educated, trained to understand human behavior, and still be completely blind to their own arrogance. It showed me that knowing psychology doesn’t automatically make you self-aware. Sometimes it just gives you better tools to justify bad behavior.

Let me take you back to that Friday morning in Providence. It was mid-October, a beautiful fall day. Leaves changing colors. That perfect New England autumn. I’d had breakfast with my wife, oatmeal, coffee, fruit. We talked about maybe seeing the grandkids that weekend. I walked into the courthouse feeling peaceful, grateful for another day to serve my community.

The morning started normally. A few traffic violations, some small disputes, the usual Friday docket. People were respectful. Most showed remorse. That’s how most days go when people come in with the right attitude.

Then around 11:00, the bailiff called a name, and my peaceful morning ended.

In walked this therapist. Late 30s, early 40s maybe. Expensive casual clothes. Designer jeans, blazer, nice shoes. A leather portfolio instead of a briefcase. But what struck me wasn’t his appearance. It was his expression. He looked at my courtroom like he was observing a psychological experiment. Analytical. Detached. Superior.

The charge was serious. Reckless driving through a school zone. He’d been clocked at 55 miles per hour in a 25 zone during dismissal time. Kids everywhere. Crossing guards jumping back. Parents screaming. Multiple witnesses. School security footage. Overwhelming evidence.

I explained the charge and asked if he understood.

He said he understood the legal framework but wanted to discuss contextual factors and psychological pressures.

I asked if he disputed the speed.

He didn’t. Instead, he explained that as a licensed therapist, he understood human behavior existed on a spectrum. He’d just finished a difficult session. He was emotionally depleted. He made a decision in a compromised mental state.

He was using therapy language to excuse endangering children.

When I pushed back, he psychoanalyzed me. In my courtroom. Suggested my resistance was a defense mechanism tied to authority.

In forty years, I’d never seen anything like it.

He wasn’t remorseful. He wasn’t apologizing. He was turning the proceeding into a therapy session where he was the expert and everyone else was the subject.

When the security footage played, showing children jumping out of the way, he watched with clinical detachment. No horror. No concern. Just analysis.

He talked about his perceived threat level. His cognitive processing. His internal state.

Never once did he mention the children.

That’s when I thought about another case that same week. A woman named Linda. Single mother. Waitress. Caught speeding while rushing to pick up her sick child. She cried. Took responsibility. Said she was wrong. Showed real remorse.

I reduced her fine.

That’s mercy. Accountability plus humility.

Standing before me now was the opposite. Intelligence without character. Insight without responsibility.

I asked the therapist what he told clients when they hurt others. He spoke about understanding root causes, self-compassion, growth.

I asked about the people who got hurt.

He circled back to himself.

I finally asked him why, after all that analysis, he still hadn’t said “I’m sorry.”

He offered a non-apology. Sorry the situation occurred. Sorry people felt afraid.

Not sorry he caused it.

That’s when I knew what I had to do.

I increased the fine. And I ordered 60 hours of community service as a crossing guard at the very school where he endangered children.

Not therapy. Not counseling. Real service.

Standing in the cold. Helping kids cross safely. Facing the reality of what he almost did.

He objected. Said it was punitive.

I told him what creates real change is responsibility lived, not explained.

Eventually, after the ruling, he finally apologized. A real apology. Too late to change the sentence, but not too late to change him.

Months later, I received a letter from the school principal. He’d changed. Learned the kids’ names. Earned their trust. One of the children he’d nearly hit hugged him and forgave him.

That’s transformation.

Not jargon. Not analysis. Humility.

This case reminded me that intelligence without self-awareness is dangerous. That helping others means nothing if you can’t admit your own faults. And that sometimes the best therapy is simply telling the truth.