Men in Therapy
As I opened the door to welcome my next client into my office, I was struck by the waiting room full of men. One middle-aged, slender and tanned, likely from hard work at his trade that turned his skin leathery and his hands calloused. Just before his eyes darted from mine, I saw the pain in them and I knew he was in the right place. Another man, a little older but clean shaven and well-dressed, with just enough product in his hair to give it the spike he wanted, complimented my outfit as I made my way to my office and I could tell he really meant it. (I really liked my outfit so I took his words in and smiled as I received them). He was clearly much more comfortable in his seat, smiling and relaxed. Then there was my client who sat fidgeting with his phone with arthritic fingers- an older gentlemen in his 70s who works hard to live a life he loves and is coming to me to seek more of the same and get unstuck from the places where that vitality is inhibited.
I had to take a moment to take in the scene. It was beautiful and immediately I was moved to hope. Hope because most American men have been told their whole lives that asking for help is weakness and feeling anything is feminine. They’ve been culturally conditioned to repress their feelings and pretend they’re “fine,” always and only “fine,” and if not “fine” then angry, but even then, if you asked them, they’d probably still say they’re “fine.” And as a result they mask their true selves with arrogance and pride, because what other option do you have when you’ve been told you can’t ask for help? You have no choice but to know everything. They mask their true selves with hypersexuality, because men aren’t allowed to feel, but they’re expected objectify, flirt, use porn and push boundaries. Isn’t that a man’s worth? They mask their true selves with anger, because there is no room for imperfections, frustrations, or obstacles when they have to be fine all the time. They wear the mask, but behind it, they’re suffering, they’re lonely, they’re anxious and depressed, and they’re hopeless. We know this because in the US men die by suicide 3.88x more than women, according to a 2020 report by the CDC. So as I took in their faces- this room of men waiting patiently to see their therapists- I was filled with an overwhelming mix of hope, relief, and pride. I felt so proud of these men for taking the risk to break the mold, acknowledge their pain, and ask for help. They dared to take off the mask. They dared to let us see them. And in that moment, they were no longer alone. They allowed themselves a witness to the wounds, a partner in the pain, a helper in the hopelessness. And as beings created for connection and community- THAT. CHANGES. EVERYTHING.
Men, our door is open. You are welcome to the table of healing. There is so much space for you here. (There are plenty more seats in our waiting rooms)
