Being a therapist isn’t about having it all figured out. It’s not about being above, beyond, or separate from the people I work with.
Being a therapist is walking alongside my clients. It’s listening – really listening. It’s opening myself to their experience and making room for whatever needs to be said. And I mean whatever. It’s being willing to admit when I’m wrong. It’s sitting with the unknown. It’s letting my clients tell me what they feel – about life, about themselves, and sometimes, about me. And taking that in.
Now let’s be clear: I don’t have it all worked out. I’m not a perfect person. I ignore my own advice more than I’d like to admit. I skip the exercises I know would bring me back to my senses. I forget to breathe. I speak before I think. I don’t always listen to my wife or my son the way I should.
I get angry. I get sad. I feel down, lost, lonely, hopeful, excited, distant, joyful – sometimes all in the same week.
I’m human. Just like the men I work with.
I need support. I need routines, guidance, space. I need to feel safe and grounded, too. My comfort with emotions doesn’t mean I’m untouched by them. My training doesn’t make me invincible.
And that’s important to say – not just for me, but for the men who come and sit across from me. Because there’s a real vulnerability in showing up and speaking honestly with someone, especially for men who’ve spent years keeping things locked up tight.
So I hold that with care. But I also don’t pretend I’m on some pedestal. We meet man to man.
That balance – between honouring their risk and staying grounded in my own humanity – is what makes this work real. Every session is an opportunity. And every time we step into that room, I’m reminded what a privilege it is to be there.
