How my therapist saved my relationship to men

To heal my father wound, I needed a change

BY JONATHAN JACOBS

I’d never initiated a breakup before. Typically in my relationships, things would come to their natural conclusion and then we would go our separate ways, wishing each other the best in our future endeavors. It was amicable. It was healthy. But once I knew Carla and I weren’t the best match anymore, I decided I would have to put my avoidant inclinations aside, step up, and end things. 

“Carla,” I told her, during one of our last times together, “I so appreciate the journey you have taken me on over the past year, but I think I’m ready to move on. Specifically, I think the next step on my journey is to be with a man.”

“I think so, too,” she told me. What a relief it was to know we were on the same page. That’s what made Carla such a great therapist for me. Even if she knew where I needed to go, she was going to let me get there myself. It would hurt to say goodbye, but to continue my healing journey I needed to make a change.

See, to this point, I had been in and out of therapy for eight years. In all that time, across six different individual and couples therapists, I had only worked with women. Their spaces drew me in. They felt safer, nonjudgmental, and nurturing — exactly what I look for in a therapist. 

For many years, this approach worked. These women led me on a journey of healing that helped me come to terms with much of my childhood, my relationship with my body, and my emotional trauma. I would not be the man I am today if not for their involvement in my life. But to continue this journey I would have to let go of them. What I needed was to dig into why I was so afraid of male therapists. The answer was as simple as it was obvious: my father.

The author and his father

My relationship with my father had left me incapable of forming deeper relationships with men. Men never felt safe to me because he never felt safe to me. This was the person who shamed my body, my food choices, my dreams. The areas where I felt weakest were those he was most adept at poking and prodding with his words. I acknowledge now that while he did the best he could as a parent — that he believed he was operating from a place of love —   my brain still bears the scars of his approach.

“What I needed was to dig into why I was so afraid of male therapists. The answer was as simple as it was obvious: my father.”

That’s the part of his legacy I carried with me long after his death. His inability to listen, to empathize, to affirm — I projected these onto nearly every man I would develop a relationship with. They won’t understand me. They won’t listen to me. They will judge my choices. That’s why I had chosen to avoid male therapists, because I believed they would be as critical of me as he was, and in those spaces there would be no healing. To save my friendships, I had to heal my wound. That would start by working with a male therapist.

Ernie came recommended to me by a couples counselor, and our first session was plenty awkward. For the first time, I felt closed off from my therapist. From the moment we sat down together I was trying to control the version of me that Ernie saw. My word choices were considered, the way I revealed information was different, I even made less eye contact. It was the same way I would behave around my dad. Few words, closed off body language, protecting myself by shutting down. But I had to unlearn these defense mechanisms. Ernie wasn’t my father, in the same way my friends aren’t him either. But knowing this and internalizing it are two different challenges.

Sensing my discomfort, Ernie began deploying, what I imagine, are time-tested techniques to help break down my defenses and, bit by bit, they worked. We worked together for a year before circumstances ended our time together.   That was a year of immense growth for me. Even after nearly a decade in therapy I was just now learning the lesson that it’s not only what happens in therapy that can make a difference, but who you’re doing that therapy with.

My time with Ernie would prove to be one of the most important experiences I would have in therapy. It taught me that I can find compassion and care in men again. He invited me into a dialogue that encouraged us both to reveal parts of ourselves to each other, ensuring that I felt we were both peeling back layers and putting our full selves on display.

The author and his father

These lessons have changed the way I live my life. My relationships with men around me who share my desire to build spaces of compassion and care are deeper and more fulfilling than ever before. When a man snaps a tripwire that triggers my father wound, I know how to respond in a way that gives grace and keeps me engaged, rather than closed off. When men in my life need support, I know how to provide it because I had someone do that for me. 

In modeling what it means to be a safe man, Ernie was able to help me unlearn the lessons my father’s behavior had taught me about male relationships. Thanks to him, I have a new story about the ways men can relate to one another.

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Jonathan Jacobs is the co-founder of LOUDMOUTH, a digital marketing and advocacy agency. He also sits on the board of A Call to Men and is an active voice in the men’s movement. For more updates from his mental heal th journey, follow him on TikTok, Instagram, or LinkedIn.