Why I’ve Never Been to Therapy
Masculinity and the challenge of asking for help
Afew months ago I wrote a post about why all my friends want to kill themselves. I was nervous when I pressed publish; it was radically different from anything I had ever written, and I honestly thought no one would read it besides my mom.
I was wrong. It apparently struck a nerve and, at the time of writing, has 229,000 views.
This sudden spotlight has led to a strange phenomenon: folks are finding me on Facebook, Instagram, even LinkedIn, and asking me for help. Some of them want to kill themselves, some have friends who did, and some are just suffering from garden variety depression.
And they’re asking for my help.
Help which, let’s be clear, I am eminently unqualified to give. I work in data analytics, for Christ’s sake. I reuse Amazon boxes to organize my shelves and haven’t done laundry in two weeks.
So I often default to a response I’ve given to many struggling friends over the years:
“You should go see a therapist. As a matter of fact, I think everyone should see a therapist.”
Everyone, that is, except me.
