The physiotherapist your friend loves might drive you absolutely nuts.
And you might both have a point.
At the rehab center where I work, we all have the same profession. But put us in a room with a patient, and you’ll see very different approaches.
These are my impressions, based on conversations, what I’ve seen, and what patients tell me. Obviously, I’m not sitting in the corner of every treatment session taking notes.
That would be weird.
One colleague leans toward “no pain, no gain.”
He comes from boxing, and having joined one of his training sessions, I can tell you: his workouts are fucking brutal.
I was cooked. My muscles kept reminding me about it for days.
Some patients love him. They want someone who pushes them, challenges them, and gets them working harder than they would on their own.
Others find that intensity overwhelming.
Same therapist. Very different reactions.
Another colleague focuses more on sensation, precision, and control. Small movements. Subtle muscle contractions. Really paying attention to what your body is doing.
He has a martial arts background too, although I’m hazy on the details. What stands out to me is his patience with fine details and his incredibly positive attitude.
For some patients, that approach clicks. They enjoy slowing down and exploring a movement.
Others would probably be thinking, “Can we please just lift something?”
Then there’s a colleague with a dance background. Coordination, body control, and movement quality feature strongly in her work.
She listens, wants patients involved, and works particularly well with people who are ready to participate. When that willingness isn’t there, getting things moving is harder.
And then there’s me.
I studied biology before becoming a physiotherapist. Back then, I wanted to study behavior.
Apparently, that interest followed me into the treatment room.
I’m into strength and functionality too. But I keep coming back to understanding.
Do you understand what we’re doing?
Does the exercise make sense to you?
What makes you do it at home—or leave the exercise sheet untouched until five minutes before your next appointment?
I’m interested in what shapes behavior. What makes something feel manageable, confusing, worthwhile, or threatening?
Understanding those things helps me build a plan with the person in front of me.
And yes, sometimes that means I need to remind myself that the person came for physiotherapy, not an unsolicited biology lecture.
We have different backgrounds, different interests, and different ways of working. Some of my colleagues have been doing this for years longer than I have.
We still help people.
Some patients connect with me. Others connect much more easily with one of my colleagues.
I’m glad they have that option.
Because the amount of explanation that gives one person clarity can leave another thinking, “Okay, Carina. I get it. Can we move now?”
Some people enjoy paying close attention to every movement. Others find that much inward attention overwhelming.
Some appreciate a firm push. Others need a slower introduction before they feel comfortable trying.
Our backgrounds influence how we work. But the person in front of us matters too. A useful approach needs room to adapt.
This doesn’t mean every treatment is equally useful, or that liking your therapist makes whatever they do effective. The treatment still needs a sound rationale and a plan that responds to your progress.
But you also need to be able to work together.
Can you ask questions?
Can you say, “This feels too much,” without feeling dismissed?
Can you admit that you haven’t done the exercises, so you can figure out why together?
Trust matters in those conversations. It gives you room to participate honestly, instead of spending every appointment trying to be a “good patient.”
And if that connection is missing, you’re allowed to bring it up. Explain what you need more of—or less of.
Sometimes that conversation is enough to change how you work together.
Sometimes you’ll want a different physiotherapist.
That doesn’t automatically make either of you bad at your part.
Your needs can also change. The therapist who suited you three years ago might not suit what you need today. Or you might need a different kind of support at a different stage of recovery.
You don’t owe anyone a lifetime subscription because they once helped your shoulder.
You’re allowed to look for someone you can trust, speak openly with, and work alongside.
Even if your friend still thinks their physiotherapist is the best thing since sliced bread.
🧪 Let’s Experiment
“She’s brilliant” is a recommendation. It still leaves a few questions.
Brilliant at explaining? Encouraging? Pushing you through that last repetition while you reconsider your life choices?
Former patients sometimes recommend me like that. And yet, some people come into my practice and don’t feel the same way.
🎯 Try This:
When looking for a physiotherapist, choose one thing you’d find helpful: clear explanations, plenty of challenge, a slower pace, or time to practice.
Ask how they usually work and mention what helps you.
See how they respond—and whether their approach sounds like the physiotherapy you’re looking for.
🧠 Final Thought:
Your friend can keep their favorite physiotherapist. You’re allowed to find yours—and need something different along the way.