If you’ve ever watched Stranger Things and thought, “This is uncomfortably relatable,” don’t worry, you’re not alone. Yes, there are monsters with too many teeth and a dimension that looks like a mouldy basement, but underneath all that, the show is oddly human. Therapists like me can barely watch an episode without muttering things like, “Ah, yes, classic trauma response,” or “Mm-hmm, that’s a clear example of projection from the Demogorgon.”
Because Stranger Things isn’t really about monsters. It’s about the monsters inside us, fear, grief, shame, loneliness, and the parts of us we’d rather pretend don’t exist. The parts that belong, in a sense, in our very own Upside Down.
So, grab your walkie-talkie, some Eggos, and possibly a torch (you know, for emotional spelunking), and let’s explore the psychodynamic heart beating beneath the neon glow of Hawkins, Indiana.
The Upside Down as a Metaphor for the Unconscious
Let’s start with the obvious: the Upside Down is basically Freud’s basement. Dark, unexplored, inconveniently sticky, full of creatures you’d rather not meet at 2am.
Psychodynamically, it’s the perfect metaphor for the unconscious, the parts of our psyche where old memories, unprocessed emotions, and unmet needs live. Not because we intentionally buried them, but because life is complicated and humans are remarkably skilled at avoiding things until they grow tentacles.
In Hawkins, the Upside Down seeps into the ordinary world through cracks, rifts, and occasionally via a giant Mind Flayer. In our own lives, the unconscious leaks through:
- sudden emotional reactions we don’t quite understand
- familiar patterns we “swear we won’t repeat again”
- dreams with oddly specific symbolism
- the inexplicable urge to avoid Karen from Accounts
The show, in its brilliantly spooky way, reminds us that what we don’t confront doesn’t stay hidden. It spreads. It grows. And if ignored long enough… well, we all know what happens when you ignore a Demogorgon.
Eleven and the Journey of Reclaiming the Self
Eleven, arguably the emotional anchor of Stranger Things, and not just because she can throw a van with her mind (although we’ve all had days where that would’ve been useful).
Eleven’s story is one of identity reclamation.
She begins as a child shaped by trauma, raised in a lab where emotions are liabilities and relationships are monitored like science experiments. But as the series unfolds, she does something profoundly human: she searches for who she is outside the roles imposed on her.
This is something many clients explore in therapy:
Who am I when I’m not performing?
Who am I when I’m not surviving?
Who am I when I’m allowed to feel?
Eleven’s journey is a masterclass in slowly, sometimes painfully, building a sense of self:
- discovering agency
- challenging old narratives
- choosing connection
- learning vulnerability (with varying success levels, understandably)
And, of course, the iconic moment where she screams “NO!” at monsters and men alike is something I regularly encourage metaphorically in sessions. If you can’t set a boundary with your Demogorgon, start with your inner critic.
The Gang as a Blueprint for Supportive Relationships
One of the greatest joys of Stranger Things is the group dynamic. The kids, the teens, even the adults, they’re all woven into a kind of chosen family tapestry that feels both essential and comforting.
Psychologically, they represent what we all need:
A Mike
Someone who believes in us, sometimes more fiercely than we believe in ourselves.
A Lucas
Someone who questions things, challenges the narrative, and keeps us grounded.
A Dustin
Someone who brings humour, warmth, and a reminder not to take everything (including ourselves) too seriously.
A Will
Someone whose sensitivity reminds us that being emotional is not a flaw but a form of wisdom.
A Max
Someone who can join the group and remind everyone that new relationships don’t erase old ones, they deepen them.
A Hopper
Someone whose gruff affection masks a heart big enough to hold the whole world, and who would walk through fire for us, even if he grumbles the entire way.
Together, they model the antidote to the Upside Down – connection.
Trauma isolates.
Fear isolates.
Shame isolates.
Connection heals.
Not through grand gestures, but through showing up, awkwardly, imperfectly, and often with a walkie-talkie in hand.
Trauma in Stranger Things Isn’t a Plot Device—It’s the Plot
Many shows sprinkle trauma in to make characters “interesting.” Stranger Things does something braver: it treats trauma as a lived reality with long, tangled threads.
Will’s possession.
Max’s grief.
Eleven’s childhood.
Hopper’s loss.
Nancy’s guilt.
Steve’s insecurity.
Jonathan’s pressure to be the stable one.
Joyce’s anxious determination.
Everyone is surviving something, processing something, avoiding something, or carrying something.
This is refreshingly honest.
Therapy rooms are full of people who look just like the characters of Hawkins, not because they’ve fought monsters, but because they’re grappling with invisible battles.
What Stranger Things gets right is that trauma isn’t always loud. Often, it’s:
- the quiet dissociation
- the way someone flinches at connection
- the difficulty trusting a good thing
- the need to protect others at the cost of oneself
- the belief that love will always be lost
The show gives space for these stories without minimising them. It doesn’t present trauma as something to “get over” but something to integrate, understand, and grow around.
Monsters as Symbols of the Things We Don’t Want to Face
Let’s talk monsters.
The Demogorgon.
The Mind Flayer.
The Vecna of it all.
Terrifying, yes, but incredibly symbolic. In psychodynamic thinking, monsters often represent parts of ourselves or our histories we fear confronting:
- The Demogorgon: raw fear, the things we run from
- The Mind Flayer: invasive thoughts and overwhelming pressures
- Vecna: the voice that whispers old wounds back into life
When these creatures appear, the characters don’t defeat them by ignoring them. They name them. Face them. Fight them. Together.
And isn’t that just therapy in a nutshell?
We go into the Upside Down, slowly, carefully, with the lights on, and we face the parts of ourselves we’ve spent years avoiding. Sometimes the monster shrinks. Sometimes it changes shape. Sometimes it loses its power entirely simply because it’s no longer living in the dark.
The Power of Vulnerability in a World That Fears It
One of the show’s recurring messages is that vulnerability is not weakness; it’s strength in its rawest form.
We see it in moments where characters:
- admit fear
- ask for help
- tell the truth
- break down
- reconcile
- let someone in who might hurt them
- trust someone with their emotional map
Clients often ask me, “Isn’t vulnerability risky?” To which I say, “Yes. So is living without it.”
Vulnerability is the very thing that allows the kids of Hawkins to face cosmic horrors, because vulnerability leads to connection, and connection leads to resilience.
It doesn’t matter how many monsters there are in the world if you’re not alone in fighting them.
Growing Up in Stranger Things and the Painful Beauty of Change
Watching the characters grow from children into teens has been oddly emotional. Yes, partly because I’m now fully aware of how quickly the years pass, but also because the show captures that universal ache of growing up:
- friendships changing shape
- innocence fading
- priorities shifting
- discovering love, loss, and the occasional telekinetic nosebleed
Change, even the good kind, comes with grief. And Stranger Things doesn’t shy away from that.
The characters mourn what they lose as they grow, but they also carry it forward. Because that’s what we all do. The child we once were doesn’t vanish; they linger like Will’s drawings on the wall. They shape us, even if we forget to look back.
Why Stranger Things Comforts Us Even When It Terrifies Us
This, to me, is the show’s real magic.
Despite the monsters…
Despite the danger…
Despite the existential dread…
The world of Stranger Things is deeply comforting.
Because it offers something profoundly human:
- loyalty
- courage
- friendship
- humour amidst chaos
- imperfect people trying their best
- adults who care, even when they don’t have a map
- kids who fight for each other with astonishing tenderness
Even with the threat of interdimensional doom, Hawkins feels like a place where you could knock on someone’s door and they’d hand you a walkie-talkie and a slice of pizza.
That, in itself, is healing.
Reaching Out for Support in Your Own Upside Down
If your personal Upside Down feels close to the surface, or if the monsters you’re battling feel a little too familiar, therapy can offer a safe, warm space to explore what’s happening beneath the surface.
Whether you’re navigating old wounds, facing emotional Demogorgons, or simply wanting to understand your inner world with more compassion, reaching out can be the first step toward reclaiming your own story. In my practice, Serenity of Mind Therapy, I offer psychodynamic therapy both online and in-person at my therapy rooms in Haywards Heath, West Sussex, and Crowborough, East Sussex.
And just like the gang in Hawkins, you don’t have to face the darkness alone—I’m here, ready to walk alongside you, torch in hand, whenever you need, so contact me here.