I am guilty of it myself: In my mid-20s, as I struggled with debilitating anxiety and panic attacks, I bristled at the idea of going to therapy. After all, I had never needed therapy before. I was young, healthy, and had the world ahead of me. What would going to therapy be but a sign of failure or of an inability to handle things on my own?

Statistics show that I was not alone in my resistance: A 2019 CDC report discovered that “nearly one in four women received any mental health treatment (24.7 percent) in the past 12 months, compared with 13.4 percent of men.” But why such a difference? I am reminded of a scene in the HBO series The Sopranos where the main character, mob boss tough guy Tony, laments (ironically, in a therapy session): “Nowadays, everybody’s gotta go to shrinks, and counselors…and talk about their problems. What happened to Gary Cooper? The strong, silent type.” Gary Cooper, an actor who often portrayed the archetypal American “rugged,” hyper-independent male—a horseback-riding, no-nonsense, cowboy-hat-wearing tough guy—to Tony Soprano represented what true masculinity is, and it certainly did not involve therapy, feelings, or vulnerability.

And that is part of the issue: Constantly perpetuated myths of masculinity prevent many men from seeking help when they are struggling. This “do it myself” mentality has its roots in many a story, film, advertisement, or other popular medium. In the 1970s, sociologist Robert Brannon wrote a four-part Blueprint of Manhood, in which he outlined a “script” for being a man. It included:

• “No Sissy Stuff” — men are to avoid being feminine, show no weaknesses, and hide intimate aspects of their lives.
• The Big Wheel — men must gain and retain respect and power, and are expected to seek success in all they do.
• The Sturdy Oak — men are to be “the strong, silent type” by projecting an air of confidence and remaining calm no matter what.
• Give ‘Em Hell – men are to be tough, adventurous, never give up, and live life on the edge.

In essence, Brannon and many men of the time felt that men should be tough, stoic, and aggressive. They absolutely should not be emotional, contemplative, or vulnerable, which, interestingly, are many of the attributes of the men I work with in my private practice. In fact, much of my work is helping these individuals embrace these aspects of their personality and reframe them as strengths rather than as weaknesses. While my own private practice provides anecdotal research, I can say with confidence that many men are living in ways that challenge these antiquated notions of manhood and that their lives are richer and fuller for it.

It is not lost on me that, although the above “blueprint” dates back 50 years, many of these popular myths still hold sway in how people think about manhood. Neither is it lost on me that, as sensitive as I know I am, and even though I am a therapist, I have fallen prey to these unreasonable expectations. How often have I held it in, kept it to myself, suffered in silence, turned to unhealthy coping mechanisms, or, worse, responded in anger when what I really felt was a more fragile and vulnerable emotion, which society told me I should not be in touch with? So many of the men I work with relate to these very experiences and feelings. Our therapy is often an exercise in allowing these feelings to come to the surface, of facing them head-on and with compassion, and of normalizing the whole complicated experience of being a man.

When I finally rebelled against the unspoken rule that I was a guy and, therefore, did not need therapy, I found it indescribably helpful—I might even say, without hyperbole, life-altering. I had not known that there existed an environment in which I could safely be all the things I really was: sensitive, anxious, uncertain, creative, emotional, vulnerable, compassionate. But my skilled therapist helped me begin to see these attributes as valuable rather than as antithetical to the idea of masculinity. He helped me give myself permission to be me despite what larger societal and gender expectations might have outlined.

In the succeeding years, I have had many a wonderful therapist (male and female) who have continued to help me shed so many unhelpful expectations of how I “should” be in the world. They never chided me for being a “sissy” or told me to be a “big wheel,” “a sturdy oak,” or to “give ’em hell.” Interestingly, I found through the process that I actually was a pretty sturdy oak—but in healthy ways that worked for me.

Becoming a therapist myself was predicated on a number of things, but certainly that formative experience in my own therapy is at the bedrock. I experienced firsthand the support, compassion, enlightenment, and education that one can gain from the therapeutic process; more importantly, I learned that the benefits outweighed the popular drawbacks and myths (“it’s a sign of weakness,” “you should be able to figure it out yourself,” “men don’t share their feelings”). How lucky I am to now be in a position to guide others as they work through the maze of unhelpful mythology about being a man and asking for help.

I will close by pointing out that while I see a majority of male clients in my practice, every other Monday, I see my own therapist. Continued cultivation of compassion and acceptance, as well as the further building of a male community of lived and shared experience, have the immense power to challenge the impossible expectation of the “strong, silent type.”