What Do We Do When There Are No Answers? (Exploring Uncertainty)

Why did this happen?  What’s the point of all this pain?  Will I ever feel whole again?  Often we search for clarity with desperation, with hopefulness, and sometimes, without success.  In therapy, these are the questions that echo. They don’t arrive from a place of logic. They arrive with grief, confusion, and longing.  In existential psychotherapy the goal is not always to find the answer.  But to sit honestly with the question.

Many people come to therapy hoping that understanding will ease the pain, that figuring it out will bring about betterment.  Sometimes that’s true.  But often, insight doesn’t erase grief, or explain injustice, or untangle the complexity of being human.  Existential therapy doesn’t offer false comfort. It simply offers a space to tell the truth.

When answers don’t come, we still have choice to feel, and to act.  We can choose to connect. And we can choose to create a meaning.  After all, meaning is not accidental. It is discovered and forged piece by piece.  Rollo May said, “Freedom is man's capacity to take a hand in his own development. It is our capacity to mold ourselves."  In a world that demands clarity, productivity, and certainty surrender is often inevitable.  So what do we do when there are no answers? We keep showing up with courage.  We grieve what needs grieving.  We love what can be loved.  And we walk forward regardless.

Existential psychotherapy won’t hand you a solution, but it will walk beside you as you live the question.  Whether you're facing a life transition, grief, burnout, or meaninglessness, therapy can offer a space to pause, reflect, and move forward intentionally.

Songwriting for Self Knowledge

Songwriting is more than a creative outlet, it’s a mirror. For many, the process of writing lyrics and melodies becomes a powerful way to uncover emotions that are difficult to name. Unlike journaling, which tends to focus on direct narration, songwriting allows us to layer thoughts with metaphor, rhythm, and sound, offering a different language for what lives beneath the surface.

When we write songs, we’re often surprised by what comes out. A single line can reveal an old belief, a hidden fear, or a longing we didn’t know we carried. The act of crafting verses pushes us to ask deeper questions: What am I really trying to say? Why does this line feel true? Through this process, songwriting becomes an internal dialogue, a space where we slow down enough to hear ourselves.

It also invites flexibility. A verse that once felt raw can evolve into something hopeful. A chorus might carry anger one day, and clarity the next. This fluidity mirrors personal growth. Our understanding of ourselves is always shifting, and songwriting gives us a way to track that evolution over time.

Whether you’re a trained musician or someone humming into a phone recorder, songwriting can be a deeply therapeutic tool. It doesn't demand perfection. It just asks that you listen, stay curious, and let the song lead you a little closer to who you are.

Men and Depression: It Doesn't Always Look Like Sadness

When we think of depression, typically we picture someone who’s sad or with low energy. But for a lot of men, it shows up differently: irritability, pulling away from people, drinking more, or throwing themselves into work. It’s not always easy to spot, even for the person going through it.

In truth , many men are taught to push feelings aside, to “man up” and keep moving. So instead of saying, “I’m struggling,” it comes out as anger, stress, or silence.

Here’s the thing: therapy isn’t just for when things hit rock bottom. It’s like a tune-up for your mental health. It helps you get ahead of stress, sort out tough emotions, and feel more like yourself again.

There’s no shame in getting support. In fact, it’s one of the strongest moves you can make.

If something feels off, trust that. You don’t have to figure it out alone. Let’s talk.

The Unspoken Life of Men

In a world that often encourages strength over vulnerability, the inner lives of men are frequently left unspoken. Beneath the surface of daily routines and responsibilities lies a complex emotional landscape, one of silent battles, unshared burdens, and unacknowledged needs.

From the pressure to provide and protect, to quiet insecurities, men often navigate life carrying expectations that rarely leave room for open expression. The phrase "man up" still echoes too loudly, which discourages vulnerability and creates a culture where silence is mistaken for strength.

I find that behind closed doors, many men are simply looking for permission to feel, to speak from their perspective, and to be understood. Bringing those hidden struggles out is a necessary step toward healing, authenticity, and connection.

What Therapy Is and Is Not

Therapy is often misunderstood.  Sometimes it’s reduced to advice-giving, quick fixes, or a place to vent.  Therapy in practice tends to be far more human, and far less scripted.

Therapy is not entirely about diagnosis or developing a plan. More often it's a space where you are not judged, not rushed, and not required to be anything other than yourself. The therapist isn’t there to fix you, but a presence where truth has an opportunity to emerge. As Carl Rogers wrote, “When someone really hears you without passing judgment on you, without trying to take responsibility for you, without trying to mold you, it feels damn good.”  And the Rogers I grew up with, Mister Rogers, reminds us, “Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable.” Therapy invites us to name what’s true, and in doing so, begin to hold it with compassion and care.

From an existential view, therapy is also a place to wrestle with the big questions: Who am I? Why do I feel disconnected? What am I avoiding? How do I live authentically in a world that asks me to hide?  When discussing these themes, we lean into discomfort, we learn to live with it—with uncertainty, freedom, loss, and choice. Therapy invites you to face the tensions that shape a meaningful life, rather than avoid them.

And when working with couples, therapy becomes a place to explore the space between two people. Through an attachment lens, we recognize that most conflict is not about the surface-level issue, but about deeper, often unspoken questions: Are you there for me? Do I matter to you? Will you reach back when I reach out for you?

Couples therapy isn’t about assigning blame or deciding who’s right. It’s about creating emotional safety, helping each partner understand their own attachment needs and the ways they protect themselves when those needs feel threatened. When couples begin to understand these patterns, they can move from disconnection to repair.

So what is therapy?

It is not about being fixed.
It is not about being told what to do.
It is not a place where someone else has your answers.

It is a space for you to hear your own voice more clearly.
It is a place to be seen—fully, without conditions.
It is a courageous act of choosing to show up for your life, moment by moment.

A Necessary Commitment

Therapeutic commitment, as I see it, is twofold.
It involves a mutual investment: mine as your therapist, and yours as the person seeking growth. Your role in therapy is to explore what brought you here—whatever thoughts, questions, or problems that compelled you to begin. These things don’t need to make perfect sense right away. They don’t need to come out clearly or feel connected either. You just need to be willing to consider them. My commitment is to support you fully in doing that.

In my experience, I find three things tend to happen as we consider all the stuff that makes up your life.  First, we will encounter details about you and your life that were previously unknown. Second, as we discuss your feelings about these details, your feelings will likely change. And third, we will discover new solutions to these details.  

I often think of therapy as a confluence between science and art—a kind of waterway where psychological theory meets the canvas of being a person. We may start out believing we know ourselves, only to encounter certain moments where we feel like strangers to our own mind. That’s not a failure—it’s normal. Life is full of possibilities, and in these kinds of spaces, you have the power to decide which ones to amplify.