What Really Happens in Therapy (For Men Who’ve Wondered but Never Asked)

For a lot of men, therapy sounds vague at best and uncomfortable at worst. Sitting in a room talking about feelings while someone nods doesn’t exactly feel appealing. And if you’re handling life, working hard, and keeping things together, it’s fair to wonder, what would I even talk about?

Therapy usually isn’t what people imagine.

Most people don’t show up and immediately unload their deepest secrets. Most sessions start with very ordinary conversations: what’s been stressful, what’s not working, where you feel stuck. A therapist isn’t there to judge. They’re there to help a person think more clearly, notice patterns, and say out loud things you’ve noticed quietly.

Therapy also isn’t about being told what to do or being “fixed.” It’s more like having a place where you can slow down and take an honest look at how your relationships, your reactions, the pressure you’re under.

One common myth is that therapy is only for crisis or weakness. Many men often come to therapy because they’re functional but frustrated. They’re doing fine on the outside but feel disconnected, irritable, or worn down.

Most sessions are practical. We talk and reflect. You’ll leave with a little more clarity. Over time, insights small add up.

Therapy’s about understanding yourself better, and learning how to carry the weight you already have in a way that costs you less.

Procrastination as Information

Most people don’t procrastinate because they don’t care. They procrastinate because there is discomfort, anxiety, pressure, or fear. Avoiding the task offers short-term relief, in spite of more stress later.

In therapy, procrastination is less about time management and more about emotion regulation. The question isn’t, why can’t I just do it? but, what does this task bring up for me? Tasks carry hidden meanings, proof of worth, fear of being trapped, or pressure to be perfect.

Waiting to feel motivated rarely works. Motivation often comes after starting an endeavor. But forcing yourself usually backfires too. What helps more is reducing the emotional weight of the task. If we can aim at “good enough,” and separate your worth from the outcome. Another example is to make a realistic commitment.

Procrastination eases when a threat decreases. When a task no longer feels like a judgment then we decrease some of the variables that inhibit us.

Struggling with procrastination doesn’t mean you’re lazy. It means something in you is trying to avoid discomfor. When that’s understood, starting new things becomes more straightforward.

The Meaning of the Tree

The Christmas tree stands in the corner of the house, doing a lot of psychological work.

In therapy, symbols matter because they hold meaning for things we don’t have words for. The Christmas tree is one of those objects that operates on several levels at once.

The tree is evergreen. In the middle of winter, nature recedes and yet the tree stays alive (for a period of time). There’s a need we have to believe that something endures even when conditions are harsh. The tree can represent the idea that life hasn’t disappeared. It’s only gone quiet. The Christmas tree is a symbol of light in our home at the darkest time of the year.

The act of decorating the tree is just as important as the tree itself. We take something living and mark it with our personal history: ornaments from childhood, handmade objects, gifts from people no longer here. This is meaning-making. It’s a way we tell our story, arrange memories and stand back and look at. The tree becomes a container for joy and sorrow at the same time.

The tree has a developmental aspect too. Children experience the tree as wonder and anticipation. As adults, we experience it as nostalgia, responsibility, or even pressure. That shift matters. It highlights the psychological tension between innocence and burden, between the excitement we once felt and the effort it now takes to recreate the magic. 

Lastly, the tree is temporary. It’s brought in, celebrated, and then taken down. It’s both disappointing and liberating. The tree teaches us that meaning doesn’t come from permanence. It comes from attention and effort. We gather, we light it up, we let it matter, and then we let it go.

In therapy, we often help people do the same. We honor what is meaningful now without demanding it last forever.

Longing Isn’t a Problem to Fix

Longing often gets treated like a symptom. Something to soothe, distract from, or hurry past. If we want something we don’t have we assume it means we’re stuck or dissatisfied.

Grief lives inside longing. The life you didn’t choose, or the relationship that changed, or the future you once assumed would arrive. Longing is how those losses keep breathing in us. It shows up as a ache when you see someone else living close to the life you imagined.

At the same time, longing points forward.

We tend to separate grief from ambition. But often they’re braided together. What we grieve tells us what mattered. What we long for tells us what still matters. In that way, longing becomes a compass for a direction.

Aiming toward a goal doesn’t always come from confidence or clarity. Sometimes it comes from noticing what’s missing and letting that inform how to orient yourself. You just have to notice where your attention keeps returning.

Therapy is often about learning to sit with longing without letting it harden or turn into urgency. When longing is respected instead of rushed, it can soften into something usable, like grief with movement.

If you’re longing for something right now, it doesn’t mean you’re behind. It may mean you’re still listening for something important. That’s orientation.

Frankl on Meaning

Viktor Frankl said, “Those who have a why to live can bear almost any how.” Meaning doesn’t have to be big, it often shows up in the small choices you make when life feels heavy: showing up, telling the truth, and trying again.

Frankl also wrote, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” That’s the essence of therapy: you can’t control everything, but you can choose your stance toward it.

If you’re feeling lost, try asking, what’s one small, yet significant thing today that feels worth doing? Meaning usually starts there.

Healing Doesn’t Have to Be Fast to Be Real

Bruce Springsteen’s Long Time Coming reminds me of the Roman God, Janus, which represents standing in the doorway between the past and the future. In Springsteen’s song he sings about old dysfunctional family patterns and the hope for something better.

The song is about breaking cycles. It’s about wanting to show up differently than the people who shaped you. Wanting your kids, or your partner, or your future self to inherit something gentler than what you grew up with.

The premise of the song is that change is slow, sometimes awkward, and always full of moments relearning how to live. But that’s the insight, healing that sticks is earned through slow, painful movement. Healing comes through untangling years of old habits and hurt.

Some of us face our healing on an idol Tuesday when we’re 50. Some of us are forced into it at 13. But we all arrive to it at some capacity. The doorway that Janus stands at represents a noticing of the fork we stand at, and the potential to live a little differently and love a little more deeply. It’s a long time coming, and now it’s here

Here’s a cover of the song.

https://youtu.be/NCaanneec18?si=e0TFHtdrh3VYup9x

What Makes a Good Father?

Most dads I meet are not contemplating what perfection is. They’re assessing themselves and inquiring for clarity on questions like, what does being a good father actually look like?

There are probably many different ways to answer this. But what I observe with so many good dads in my community is a good dad doesn’t always know what to do. But he keeps showing up, even when he feels tired, unsure, or overwhelmed.

It’s the everyday things that matter:

• sitting with your kid when they’re upset

• putting your phone down and listening

• admitting when you lost your cool

• choosing patience over frustration

• setting boundaries because you care

You just need to be present. Kids don’t remember your perfect moments. They remember your steady ones, the small ways you made them feel safe, seen, and important.

A good place to start is asking yourself questions like: where can I be 10% more present?, what conversation have I avoided that could make things better?, what’s one small habit that would make my home feel calmer?

Showing up with honesty, with effort, and openness is more than enough. Good fathers aren’t flawless, they’re willing participants.

The Courage to Say What You Think

Most of us have learned to filter what we say. Many of us remain agreeable to avoid conflict. But there’s a cost to silencing what we really think. Over time, those unsaid words can start to harden into resentment or self-doubt.

Think of it like Ariel in The Little Mermaid. She gives up her voice to become who she thinks she needs to be to fit in, to be loved, and to belong. But without her voice, she loses her power, her connections, her sense of self. We do the same thing when we trade honesty for approval.

Speaking honestly is about speaking with truthfulness. When you say what you think, you begin to understand what you actually believe. You come into contact with truth as you known it. That truth becomes a compass for how you live and relate to others.

In therapy, people often rediscover their relationship to their voice. They practice saying what’s real for them. It’s about showing up as yourself.

Finding your voice might not make everything easier, but it will make life more authentic. Like Ariel, once you start speaking your truth, you begin to remember who you really are.

On Singing: Reflections on Rebekah Brandes’ article

Rebekah Brandes writes that singing isn’t just for musicians, it’s for everyone. Her article, “Are You Singing Enough?”, explores how something as simple as singing can support our mental, emotional, and physical well being. From a therapist’s perspective, it’s a powerful reminder that healing doesn’t always happen through talking or thinking. Sometimes it begins with breath, vibration, and sound.

Singing helps regulate the body.

Brandes reports that singing lowers stress hormones and activates the body’s calming system through deep, rhythmic breathing. Even humming can settle the nervous system. It’s one of the easiest ways to bring the body back to a state of balance . We could think of it as an act of self-care.

It connects us.

When we sing with others, our bodies release oxytocin, which promotes bonding and feeling safe. In a world where isolation is rampant, singing together can increase a sense of belonging. Whether it’s joining a choir, singing at church, or belting out a song in the car with friends, it’s a way to connect.

It invites play.

Many people say, “I can’t sing.” But what if it’s not about talent? What if it’s about reconnecting with joy, curiosity, and freedom. Those are the parts of ourselves that often go quiet under stress.

Brandes’ question, “Are you singing enough?” becomes something deeper yet. It asks, “Are you allowing yourself to be heard? Are you hearing yourself?”

Sometimes the most healing sound isn’t beautiful or polished. Take Kurt Cobain or Tom Waits for example. The voice is about the expression of the what’s real, what’s raw, and what’s alive.

Every Heart Has Its Graveyard

“Every heart has its graveyard, the ghosts it still writes letters to.” Jessica Jocelyn’s haunting line reminds us that grief doesn’t vanish. It settles in. We learn to live beside it. Therapy often begins right there, in the quiet cemetery of the heart, where names fade but feelings linger.

“Some loves die and never stop breathing.” Loss isn’t always a person. Sometimes it’s a dream, a childhood, or a version of ourselves that couldn’t stay. Grief lives on in the dark corners, in the pauses, the silences, the things we don’t say.

“I have learned to plant flowers in the graves of what I’ve lost.” That’s healing. It’s not about forgetting what was, but tending to that thing in us. In therapy, we practice the art of tending, of naming what died, of mourning it honestly, and then growing something different in the soil of old sorrow.

“Even ghosts deserve a home.” To honor our grief is to make peace with our ghosts. To give them space to rest. When we acknowledge what haunts us, it no longer has to chase us. So yes, every heart has its graveyard. But every graveyard, too, can have its garden.