The Men I Work With

Not all caregivers look like caregivers. Some are sons who grew up too fast, quietly tending to a parent’s emotional instability. Others are romantic partners who take on the role of fixer, steadying the chaos of someone else's unhealed wounds. Many are men who’ve been taught—explicitly or not—that their value lies in being dependable, invulnerable, and endlessly available to others.

These are the men I often work with.

They may not call themselves caregivers. But they’ve spent years—sometimes decades—being the one others lean on: emotionally, physically, financially, or energetically. They've become experts at scanning for others' needs, attuning to distress, and showing up—while slowly, and often invisibly, slipping out of connection with themselves.

There’s a term I find helpful here: the Atlas Complex. Named after the Greek figure who held up the sky, the Atlas Complex describes a psychological pattern where a person (frequently men, shaped by cultural expectations of stoicism and self-sacrifice) feels responsible for carrying the emotional burdens of those around them.

It's not that these men are emotionless—far from it. They're often deeply sensitive, intuitive, and relationally attuned. But they've learned, consciously or not, that their role is to hold it together, to not be a problem, to keep going. Vulnerability, grief, desire, uncertainty—these inner experiences get buried under layers of competence, loyalty, and “being strong.”

Over time, this internalized burden can manifest as emotional exhaustion or numbness, difficulty accessing or expressing their own needs, patterns of over-functioning in relationships, resentment or quiet disconnection, and a persistent, gnawing sense that something is missing.

In our sessions, we create a space where the weight can be put down. Where performance isn't needed, and protection can soften. Where we begin to ask: what would it feel like to stop holding so much?

Our work often explores parentification and early roles that shaped their identity, attachment dynamics and unconscious loyalties in relationships, reclaiming desire, agency, and emotional range, setting and feeling safe with boundaries—not just with others, but with oneself—and making room for anger, grief, longing, and joy without shame.

This work is not about fixing or pathologizing. It’s about unburdening. About coming home to parts of self that have been long-neglected. About learning how to live in connection—not just with others, but within one’s own body, truth, and values.

If this resonates with you—or with a man you know—you’re not broken. You’re carrying more than your share. And it’s okay to want to put some of it down.

The men I work with are kind, perceptive, and tired. Tired of having to be the strong one. Tired of carrying roles that no longer fit. Tired of losing themselves in the process of caring for others.

You don’t have to do it all alone.