Several years ago, I worked with a client who still stands out—not because of transformation or healing, but because of how deeply he challenged my understanding of psychological safety, power, and discernment.

This adult client had been diagnosed by a previous therapist with narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) and antisocial personality disorder (ASPD), which is often associated with sociopathic traits—such as chronic lying, impulsivity, manipulation, aggression, and a lack of remorse or empathy. People with ASPD often violate social norms or the rights of others, sometimes engaging in criminal or exploitative behavior.

He described himself as destined for greatness—claiming he would one day be the richest man in the world. He’d often say that every man wanted to be him and every woman wanted him. He frequently showed me his bank account, flaunted his wealth, and seemed to crave constant ego validation. Any deviation from that—any moment that didn’t feel like admiration—triggered retaliation, mistrust, or emotional attack.

Outside of session, he admitted to heavy substance use, including alcohol and a range of illicit drugs. He shared stories of fights and violent incidents with little emotional reflection—often positioning himself as justified or superior. He also described using others for personal gain, particularly women, whom he would degrade or control to boost his own sense of power.

And the book he consistently referenced as his personal code? The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene.

When Curiosity Becomes a Crossroad

As therapists, we're often exposed to extreme thought patterns, and part of our job is to stay grounded while understanding them. Sometimes that means reading materials our clients reference—books, articles, even online spaces they draw influence from. It can be helpful. But it can also be surprisingly destabilizing.

At the time, The 48 Laws of Power was even trending on social media, with influencers and business accounts quoting it as if it were gospel. That intrigued me even more. Why were so many people drawn to it?

I began reading it—hoping to better understand the mindset of this client, and maybe others like him.

But even within the first 20% of reading, I felt a growing discomfort.

Many of the “laws” mirrored behaviors I’d already seen play out in real life: manipulation, image obsession, emotional detachment, and strategic deception. These weren't just abstract ideas—they were actual tools used by people to dominate or outmaneuver others. It was both disturbing and, in a way, eye-opening.

The book didn’t invent these tactics—it gave language to them. And perhaps that’s why it resonated so widely. It was insightful, but in a dark and unsettling way. It confirmed something I already knew but hadn’t fully put into words: a lot of people lean into manipulative behaviors when they believe power is the ultimate goal.

While some may view the book as clever or strategic, research shows that when readers—especially younger or highly ambitious individuals—are repeatedly exposed to Machiavellian ideologies, it can desensitize them to unethical behavior and even reinforce narcissistic or exploitative thinking (Jonason & Webster, 2010; Paulhus & Williams, 2002).

That’s when I realized: this book wasn’t just helping me understand a client—it was affecting me.

A Spill That Spoke Volumes

One day, after a workout, I discovered that my protein shake had spilled inside my gym bag—soaking the book and leaving sticky stains and warped pages throughout. It wasn’t completely destroyed, but it looked and felt ruined.

Oddly enough, it felt like a sign.

Something about the timing and symbolism stopped me in my tracks. I took it as a quiet but firm message: You don’t need to finish this. You’ve already seen enough. I put the book down—and never picked it up again.

Still, I didn’t throw it away.

Letting Go, Years Later

Even though I never returned to it, I kept the book for years. Maybe I thought I’d revisit it with more emotional detachment, or that I’d use it for professional reference. But recently, as I packed up to move into a new home and office, I picked it up again and skimmed through the pages.

This time, I saw it clearly.

What once felt like curiosity now felt like clarity. The book didn’t just explain manipulation—it glorified it. The tactics it promoted weren’t neutral—they were cold, fear-based, and self-serving. While some readers may pull leadership lessons from it, others—especially those drawn to control or domination—can easily interpret it as a green light to exploit, deceive, and disconnect.

That’s when I knew it was time to finally let it go., and into the trash it went.

What This Taught Me as a Therapist

This experience, strange as it was, left me with several key lessons:

• Curiosity needs boundaries. You can explore a concept without immersing yourself in it.
• Therapists are not immune to energy. Reading manipulative content—especially in the name of “understanding”—can leave an emotional imprint, even if you remain grounded in your own values.
• Not all insight is worth the emotional cost. What started as professional curiosity quickly became a source of unease—much like the client himself.
• Power without empathy is hollow. And when we celebrate that kind of power, we normalize emotional harm.
• Just because I CAN understand someone doesn’t mean I want to. I no longer choose to work with clients who thrive on cruelty or violence. Earlier in my life and in my career, I felt drawn to exploring every psychological landscape, especially the most extreme ones. I wanted to understand everyone. But with time and experience, I’ve realized that some minds are better observed from a distance—and not everything is mine to hold.

This experience reminded me how quickly professional curiosity can turn into emotional residue. For providers, learning when to engage and when to step back is not only a boundary—it’s a form of self-respect.

Final Thoughts: You Can Walk Away

I’m glad I was curious. But I’m even more grateful I listened to that moment—when something inside me said, this isn’t for you.

Letting go of The 48 Laws of Power wasn’t just about a book. It was about honoring my intuition, my emotional safety, and the kind of therapeutic presence I want to cultivate.
I don’t need to understand every strategy for control to recognize how it feels in my body.
And I no longer feel the need to prove that I can sit with every type of client. That’s not what makes me a good therapist. Knowing what doesn’t align with me—that’s what does.

Sometimes, the clearest boundary is the moment you choose to walk away.

Note: Details in this post have been changed or generalized to protect client confidentiality. This reflection is intended for educational and therapeutic insight only.

Select References

• American Psychiatric Association. (2013). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (5th ed.).
• Hare, R. D. (1999). Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us.
• Jonason, P. K., & Webster, G. D. (2010). The Dirty Dozen: A concise measure of the dark triad. Psychological Assessment, 22(2), 420–432.
• Paulhus, D. L., & Williams, K. M. (2002). The Dark Triad of personality: Narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy. Journal of Research in Personality, 36(6), 556–563.