Finding My Own Path Through The Bear’s Traumatic Lens

After waiting a year, The Bear Season 4 is finally premiering on the 25th of this month. Last year, after the third season aired, I wrote an article discussing how The Bear made me realize that the protagonist, Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), had been repeating the same traumatic patterns all along. It further helped me accept a somewhat difficult truth: some traumas don’t naturally heal with time; they first need to be acknowledged. For me personally, this was profoundly significant, as I realized I was caught in my own traumatic loops (just like Carmy). It was this realization that led me to begin my first-ever therapy session.

So before the fourth season premieres, I deem it necessary to write something. On one hand, I want to explore how The Bear draws genuine empathy from reviewers through its character development—especially Carmy’s, and how, through plot progression and flashbacks, it clearly shows that Carmy, Richard “Richie” Jerimovich (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), and Sydney Adamu (Ayo Edebiri) are all caught in varying degrees of traumatic cycles. They unconsciously resort to familiar, often destructive coping mechanisms when faced with pressure and conflict—even when they know the outcomes may be worse. On the other hand, I want to share some of my own changes over the past year since The Bear helped me see my deeply hidden cyclical patterns.

In the series, Carmy almost compulsively throws himself into restaurant work. When his relationship with childhood friend Claire (Molly Gordon) begins to deepen, his first reaction is that of withdrawal and rejection—despite the immense pain this causes both Claire and himself. Richie tends to transform the pressure he feels into defensive attacks, which fuels his constant arguments with Carmy. Sydney, meanwhile, suffers panic attacks under the tremendous pressure of Carmy’s harshness and the restaurant’s demands.

Their almost identical responses under pressure doesn't just result from external stress. From Season 1 to Season 3, the restaurant they jointly operate has upgraded from a loss-making sandwich shop to a high-end establishment with Michelin-star potential. In other words, the business they poured their hearts into is finally thriving, and they’re now facing the pressure of surpassing themselves rather than merely surviving. But the disappearance of survival pressure hasn’t alleviated their inner pain; instead, it forces them to confront even more overwhelming emotional wounds. It seems that once the survival crisis is resolved and they enter relative safety, each unresolved trauma demands reckoning. Their struggles feel so real because they mirror the wounds we all carry deep inside.

From this perspective, the confrontation between Carmy and his former boss David Fields (Joel McHale) in S3E10, who once mentally abused him, is Carmy’s attempt to address his trauma. On a narrative level however, it feels somewhat deliberate. The scene reveals a harsh kind of realism: confronting and attacking those who hurt you doesn’t necessarily end the trauma. When Carmy finally yells “Fuck you” at David, the person who caused his ulcer and panic attacks, David’s indifference inflicts a secondary wound. He even claims his actions contributed to Carmy success, leaving Carmy nearly speechless.

Last year, that confrontation reduced me to tears. It reminded me of the countless times I’d collapsed in helplessness during arguments with my mother—how desperately I wanted her to acknowledge of the hurt her coldness and neglect brought about, to admit she ignored me when I needed her protection the most. The cruel part is that no matter how much I shouted (just like I did as a child), she remained absorbed in her own pain, unable to see mine. Just like she had stayed silent while my father was violent toward me. And after my father’s death, when I brought up how they had treated me, she’d insist she was also a victim—“I loved your father,” she said—erasing my experience.

I have been in therapy for almost a year now. A few days ago, when I watched that scene again, I still felt sad for Carmy, but I also felt anger toward David, even an impulse to attack. I rolled my eyes at his narcissism. Suddenly, I understood where the helplessness came from—for both Carmy and myself—when confronting those who hurt us. We’d both placed ourselves in the victim’s position, longing for acknowledgment and believing our pain would vanish if they only apologized. Once again, we’d turned ourselves into objects of others. That old pain returned, as if our worth depended on their reaction.

I’m not saying that anger is the “correct” emotion, but it's important and freeing for me to allow myself to feel it. I no longer suppress my aggression, especially towards those who have hurt me. It doesn't mean that I have fully resolved my trauma; I know old wounds still linger. But when those traumas resurface, I no longer feel doomed to endure that pain. I simply notice and think, “Oh, it’s here again.”

Back to The Bear: we know Carmy’s wounds stem not only from toxic bosses but also from his family—his mother, Donna Berzatto (Jamie Lee Curtis), and his brother Michael Berzatto’s (Jon Bernthal) suicide. Through Seasons 1 to 3, he hasn’t even contacted his mother. The Season 4 trailer suggests he finally will. For Carmy, that encounter perhaps means he’s ready to face his inner trauma, to stop suppressing himself and trapping himself in pain and nightmares.

In S2E10 “The Bear,” Carmy traps himself in a walk-in refrigerator on the night of the restaurant’s official opening. He believes his relationship with Claire has destroyed his focus, causing him to fall into anxiety and self-loathing. He tells himself, “I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that. Because no amount of good is worth how terrible this feels.”

I hope that in Season 4, Carmy has the opportunity to realize that he deserves to live a happy and peaceful life, and that he could make the people he love happy. He can stop falling into self-loathing because of his need and desire for love. This is also the direction I’ve found for myself.

For me, The Bear is great because it bares the trauma cycle while gently suggesting the possibility of awareness and change. It illuminates Carmy’s path and, for me—and perhaps for you—it reflects a journey worth taking.

How Watching 'The Bear' Season 3 Led Me to My First Therapy Session