Reflections from a psychotherapist on supporting men to reach out to other men for emotional support.
—
I didn’t know my life insurance agent very well, but I knew him well enough to accept his invitation for an introduction to a men’s group. He had provided good guidance about assisting my family when I was dead, so I trusted he might be a good connection to something beneficial while I was still alive.
As we walked to a large tepee in the still night air, an astroid made a small arc over the tent poles pointing skyward. I walked with my familiar friend of social anxiety into the open canvas flap, thinking that a man has to do what a man has to do. This man needed to get better at being able to reach out for emotional support from other men. Inside sat about twenty men around a campfire.
A metal bar was suspended from a beam. A sledge hammer was on the ground near by. Before I agreed to go to this meeting, I let my insurance agent know I was not ready to commit to joining a men’s group, yet. I wanted to gather information on what was available. He assured me the event he was taking me to was for that very purpose.
There was something special about the perfume of testosterone in the air.
|
The meeting began by a group member announcing the first names of the men who had come to check the group out. The group was one chapter of a larger organization. It was described as being community service minded with an emphasis on men becoming better partners for women.
The lead speaker explained that details of the group would be explained at an intensive seminar. The monetary price of admission to the seminar was $400. The emotional commitment was one of being ready to say, “Fuck it!, to everything that keeps (me) from being the man I wanted to be.”
The curious were instructed that if they were ready, they would pick up the hammer, strike the metal bar and bellow “fuck it, “ before writing their seminar fee check. I grew apprehensive. I am not a fan of the hard sell, but there was something that felt good about being in that tent. There was something special about the perfume of testosterone in the air for this heterosexual male.
The information seekers were introduced by first name by the group member that brought them. Then it began. One by one the “maybe interested men” stepped into the circle by the fire and stated what they thought might be holding them back from being the man that they wanted to be. Some men, confessed sins and ran to the “Fuck it bar” and then walked to the check writing table.
The men that weren’t so sure, were quickly confronted as to the lack of their comment to responsible self improvement. Some moved to the bar, others held their ground.
◊♦◊
Working as a social work counselor with individuals who had substance abuse disorders, I was quite familiar with “confrontation” as a helping strategy. The theory was that individuals with substance abuse problems were often in denial as to what their abuse was doing to others and to themselves.
When I first started counseling this population, I was often amazed as to how very intelligent people could attribute drunk driving arrests, overdoses, criminal activities to buy drugs and health problems, well known to be directly caused by substance abuse, to causes other than the drugs that they were putting into their bodies.
I could understand how yelling at them to stop the bullshit could be a treatment of choice. I witnessed again and again the apparent success of this practice as substance abuse suffers fessed up and vowed to change their ways.
Often more confrontation was provided when the addicted individual proposed their plan for getting better that didn’t include a buy in to a treatment philosophy, such as 12 Step based recovery programs. Problem was that short term confrontation evoked commitment often had a short shelf life.
Then, too suddenly, it was my turn in the ring, the camp fire light and heat.
|
With more experience, I became more aware as to how some individuals faked commitment to get people off of their backs or sincerely believed what they were saying at the time that was reinforced by facilitating their escape from confrontation, only to have that commitment unravel later. So called “tough love” justifications for screaming at someone often caused the someone to increase rather than decrease their barriers to feeling that love.
Getting someone to bring a difficult to accept problem into awareness is often best done with a softer than normal voice tone and using that someone’s premises to quietly suggest a different conclusion.
◊♦◊
As all of this went through my mind as I resisted the urge to leave the tent for some fresh air to miss my turn in the circle by “accident.” The resistance triumphed fueled by concern that my intellectualizations about psychotherapy practice could be a form of me bullshitting myself.
I could put off paying some bills. I could dispense with the intellectualizing and feel the vibration of that struck metal and hear my shout harmonize with its ring. Then, too suddenly, it was my turn in the ring, the camp fire light and heat.
My swagger to the hammer dissolved in ambivalence. I voiced that I felt badly that there was no man outside of my family that I could call at anytime to tell that I was hurting and thought that this could be holding me back from being the man I wanted to be. I was enthusiastically assured that I had come to the right tent.
I related that I was a man who needed to collect information and think things over before making important choices. I expressed my gratitude for the provocative inspiration I had received so far that evening. This was greeted by a chorus of “Bull shit!”
I was robustly informed as to the pathos of my state and as to how my not grasping the opportunity that was right before me was cowardly. I was torn as to whether to say “fuck you all” or to hit the “fuck it” gong. I whimpered that I was sorry that I just wasn’t ready to book my reservation for brotherhood training.
For me, I found that non-self disclosure was more powerful than self disclosure and less risky for clients.
|
After the ceremonies were over I was heartened by men from the group approaching me, thanking me for coming and reassuring me that It was wise to do what I felt comfortable doing at that time. There was not a single utterance of disapproval. It felt so good to get this support that I began to question again why I was moving away rather than towards joining the source of that support.
◊♦◊
I later got an opportunity to lead an ongoing men with substance abuse disorders group. I kept it topical. New members were constantly joining the group, as old members completed their treatment or dropped out.
It was great to watch some men go from “doing time” in the group to full engagement. I aways hoped that every man got at least a little something out of the experience. Topics included men overcoming barriers to reaching out to other men for emotional support. I felt that I was particular articulate in this area. As time went on the discussions never got old for me.
Talking about overcoming emotional repression, exploring male loving and sexuality, relationships with women, male friendships, homophobia, emotional communication skills, “father hunger”, etc. kept brining up personal reflections.
Itt was too risky to put out some unresolved issue of mine to the group unconsciously soliciting their counsel. Something that many group members would be more than happy to offer
|
For me, I found that non-self disclosure was more powerful than self disclosure and less risky for clients. I would typically deflect client requests to share my personal background by reminding them that there were many men they could learn from by listening to their stories, but I wasn’t one of them. Not because I didn’t have some stories to tell, but because I saw myself as having a different role in their treatment, one of supporting their focus on the lessons of their own stories. The group member who stayed with the group for years and years was me.
I came into awareness that this had become my men’s support group. Listening to the personal reflections of clients was my primary teacher. I remained steadfast that my self disclosure put clients at risk of wanting to resolve conflicts my way, instead of ways that emerged from their histories, personalities and present situations and future goals.
It was too risky to put out some unresolved issue of mine to the group unconsciously soliciting their counsel. Something that many group members would be more than happy to offer.
Yet, was my encouragement of other men to courageously and with careful discernment, face their fear of having raw personal thoughts and feelings that shared with other men also a defense against my finding men that I could trust to be emotionally vulnerable with?Is my self congratulation with having good boundaries as a psychotherapist, now another layer of denial as to my need for such support in my life?
I have since been forced into retirement by Parkinson Disease. This disease often treats its suffers with increased anxiety, depressed mood, memory loss, concentration difficulties, major muscle coordination difficulties, I care not to go on. Can I get by with the loving family support I now have, along with my abstract intellectual awareness of men’s issues with emotion? Would this be fair to my family?
When I learned that the Good Men Project was interested in submissions by psychotherapists on their struggle with their own emotional issues, I was tempted, but decided that this topic was a bit too personal. I would need to think about it. I should not try to write about a men’s issue that was very much unresolved for me.
Then, I believe it is a step in the right direction for me to add my voice to this conversation. I know that the little arrow will soon be on the submit tile, that I will pause with finger over the computer mouse, and know that the sound to come will be but a quiet “click.” I do now also believe that the accompanying “Fuck it” will be loud and I think I know where that echo is leading me.
—
Photo: Getty Images