The man who didn’t know what he wanted
A man came to see me for therapy. Well, “came” might not be the right word—his wife sent him. She was the one who found the therapist (me), made the decision, and arranged the appointment. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the situation at first, but I decided to see how things would unfold. Naturally, during the first session, I asked the client if he was willing to undergo therapy with me and what his take on the whole thing was. He said he was on board.
Verbally, he agreed to it, but everything else suggested otherwise. He was constantly late for meetings or forgot about them entirely, and when he did show up, his only answer to my questions was “I don’t know.” Occasionally, he would let slip that he often lost his temper and became aggressive, but the moment he mentioned it, he would clam up—as if hiding from himself.
Whenever he started talking about something, I could often hear in his words how things *ought* to be—the “right” way, and how his own life would be better than everyone else’s. He once told me he despised people who owned small dogs; he claimed they weren’t real dogs at all. He said that when he got a dog, it would be a big one, because a dog’s job is to protect. It wasn’t a grown man speaking, but a frightened little boy—someone who didn’t know how to be friends on equal terms, but instead needed someone big and strong by his side to protect him.
Something needs to be done, but I just can’t seem to get around to it.
He said that when he got home, the desire to do anything vanished. He spoke of lacking motivation and discipline. I countered that discipline can sometimes amount to self-coercion. He argued that unless you break yourself, nothing will ever work out. And when I asked who needed to be broken, he replied—himself, of course.
And if you don’t break anyone, I asked, is there another option? And the client replied that then no one would do anything. That is, he will not do anything. Okay, I thought, black and white thinking – either yes or no, or good or bad. For such men, stopping and resting means giving up.
The request of a man who didn’t know what he wanted
This man came to me wanting to “figure himself out,” yet he answered “I don’t know” to most questions. This didn’t signify a desire for self-discovery, but something else entirely. It meant that expectations were still placed on him to change—to achieve even more, to assuage his wife’s anxiety, and to protect others, even though he himself was the one in need of protection. He claimed not to know what he wanted, but I believe his desire was simple: to hear his own voice.
I suggested a very simple exercise to the client: sitting by a tree for 40 minutes and doing absolutely nothing. He expressed doubt that he could handle the task, believing he would inevitably get distracted by his thoughts. We discussed how this serves as a way of running away from ourselves, and he agreed. He immediately asked how he could turn back toward himself. He had no idea he was asking a question of profound personal importance. He was asking me how to do it—even though I am certain he knows *how*, yet is terrified to hear what he has been so diligently hiding deep inside. Perhaps he fears that by listening to himself, he might betray someone. Or maybe he fears the aggression that has built up over the years—an aggression that might erupt the moment his inner voice touches upon something dangerous within him. In reality, there could be any number of possibilities.
Unfortunately, this client ended therapy soon after starting. This often happens when a man sees a therapist merely to appease his wife. Truly listening to oneself is frightening. It is easier to break oneself than to disrupt the lives and systems that—however flawed—actually function. Most men do not stay in therapy. Psychotherapy is a privilege reserved for men who are brave, persistent, and passionately committed to changing the trajectory of their lives.
