Finding the strength to be vulnerable as a male counsellor

Approximately 20% of counsellors in the UK identify as male. When I began my counselling training, I was curious why this percentage was so low and whether there was something about males that made them feel less suitable for the role. As I continued my study and then moved into practice, I began to see the ways this linked to internal and external expectations of what a man ‘should’ be. One thing stood out above all others – the challenge many men found with showing vulnerability. As I continue my counselling career, searching for the strength in my own vulnerability has felt like an important journey to explore, both for myself and also to highlight the challenge that may present itself for other male counsellors and for their clients.

Throughout my counselling journey so far, one of the things that I have found most helpful in connecting with clients is recognising the strength in their vulnerability and, alongside this, the strength in my own. I have seen first-hand examples of client vulnerability in the therapeutic relationship. I always value the trust given to me by the client in these situations and how much of a privilege it feels to be allowed into their personal world in this way. It is important to me in my client work to be genuine and congruent, and I want to return this trust by entrusting the client with my own vulnerability, where this feels appropriate and helpful in the work. 

Counsellor vulnerability has been called an exercise in authenticity, a way that we can share common humanity with a client. As I gained more experience in the role, I began to realise that by accessing and valuing a deeper degree of vulnerability within myself, I could then show a greater level of warmth and empathy to the client and, as a result, give the client permission to access and value this within themselves. It has been such an illuminating experience to see where this can lead. When we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and find a way past barriers such as ego and shame, there is something that I believe can really connect us all in that shared space.

The importance of normalising discussion of emotions early in a therapeutic relationship is something that may be particularly helpful when working with male clients, due to the difficulty many men have in expressing their vulnerability. Many men (including myself) have grown up within families, cultures and societies that have promoted the idea that men don’t cry, that men should be the ‘rock’ of the family, more concerned with the feelings of others than their own. Internalising these conditions of worth and the masculine norms that society views as ‘acceptable’ behaviour for men can build a wall which stops others from viewing a more gentle, vulnerable side of themselves.

I will not pretend that getting to a place of valuing my own vulnerability is an easy journey. I carry with me many years of conditioning against this. I also know that I am not alone in this struggle. Vulnerability has been described as the first thing we look for in others, but the last thing we want others to see in us. In others, it is held up as a strength; in ourselves, we equate it with ‘shame’. In my experience, shame and ego are two barriers which can get in the way of accessing and valuing our vulnerability. I wonder how many men reading this have held themselves back from crying during an emotional film, for example, shutting down genuine feelings, worried about what others might think of them and how it might affect their masculine image?  Many clients have admitted to me their difficulty in associating vulnerability with anything other than a sign of weakness. 

I understand the challenge that can exist here. By recognising and accepting another part of who we are, what are we giving up? Our sense of self is brought into question and, with it, a fear of change. If I am not this person, then who am I? Can we find the courage to let go of who we think we should be, in favour of being who we truly are?

Is vulnerability a weakness? In my view, it is not, but I do concede that it is a risk. By lowering our defences in front of other people, we may fear the consequences of opening ourselves up and potentially being hurt more easily. But what else can we open ourselves up to in this action? To empathise more deeply, to connect more completely, to love more passionately? This is a battle that continues within me. Ego and shame are always there and can be hard to ignore, but I continue the battle because for me, the risk feels worth the reward.