I didn’t want to go to therapy either.
I used to think therapy was for broken people.
I told myself I didn’t need it. I had a degree in social work. I was helping other people every day. I knew how this stuff worked.
But underneath the competence was something else:
A quiet belief that asking for help made me weak.
The first time I sat on the other side of the room - client, not clinician - I felt like a fraud.
I thought, "I should have this figured out by now."
But the truth was, I didn’t.
I was grieving. I was disconnected from myself. I was showing up for everyone except me.
That hour changed everything.
Not because the therapist gave me some magic solution.
But because, for the first time in a long time, I dropped the act.
Men aren’t taught how to talk about pain.
We’re taught to fix things. Push through. Stay strong.
So when we feel lost, or numb, or angry - we don’t have a language for it.
But we still feel it.
We just carry it in silence.
Therapy didn’t make me weak. It made me honest.
And that honesty has helped me show up better - as a partner, a friend, and yes, as a therapist.
If you’ve ever felt like “help” is a dirty word… you’re not alone.
But man, it’s a relief to stop pretending.
Who could you send this to today - just to let them know they’re not alone?