Odds are, when you think of therapy, you picture one of two things.
The first is Freud: a patient lying on a couch, a mysterious therapist scribbling notes, an occasional “say more…,” and then a conclusion that your issues stem from still being in love with your mother or jealous of your father. He gave the field a lot, and he’ll always be an important part of our history.
But he was ahead of his time, and way behind ours.
The second is therapy as TV shows it: a couch, a box of tissues, a female therapist, and another man bringing a sitcom punchline.
Neither version of therapy was built with men in mind.
Most of us weren’t raised with the same emphasis on emotional skills as the women around us were. Then, as adults, we get labeled as shut down, angry, aloof. So, when life gets hard, when we want to ask for help, the picture of therapy we carry doesn’t feel like a fit.
Albatross Counseling is different: I believe therapy should be accessible to men, and I’m committed to finding ways to make it work for us.
Yes, there’s a couch. And no, you’re not expected to lie on it.
My office also has chairs, fidget toys, Legos, puzzles, and a card deck that teaches over 150 emotions because “fine” and “angry” only go so far. But my real goal is for therapy to rarely happen in the office at all. We relate better shoulder to shoulder, and we talk more in motion than sitting face to face.
Practically, though, here’s how it works right now:
We’ll start with a couple of sessions in my office. We’ll talk about how therapy works, privacy and confidentiality, where you’re at, and whether I’m the right person to help. From there, we’ll decide together: stay in the office, or get moving. Whether it’s a trail, a bench outside, the driving range, a round of golf, or something else.
It’s also important to know – you won’t fit with every therapist and I know I’m not for everyone. That’s okay. Finding the right fit is one of the most important parts of the entire therapy process.
Reach out by text, call or email. There’s no commitment in reaching out, and I’m not a used car salesman.
I know it takes a lot to trust someone enough to get past everything that makes therapy feel unwelcoming. I also know you can do hard things, and this is a hard thing worth doing.
I’d be honored to help you with it.