“Why Are Men So Angry?”

Prelude:

What follows in the next section is a slightly modified and updated version of the first writing I ever made public, back in March of 2018, almost eight years ago now. There were converging factors that gave birth to it originally (and the publications that followed), and I thought some of that detail might be important to share now, on the heels of revisiting and reposting this original writing, as I move closer to completing an objective that has felt impossible to finish for many years now. I’ll try to be brief—not my specialty, I know.

In 2015, following many weeks and months of research and planning, I went to Peru to work with Ayahuasca and a team of shamanic elders at a reputable retreat center. Thankfully, this wasn’t the starting point of my personal work, and I wasn’t completely directionless going in. With the knowledge gained from my previous personal therapeutic work, combined with my experiences as a professional counselor with a full practice the decade prior, I would arrive with some understanding of what I needed and what would be asked of me in this cycle of work. For starters, I knew that Ayahuasca, like all psychedelics, could not save me or do my work for me, and by this point, I knew the likelihood of a peaceful, blissful experience—the kind I would have preferred, based on my initial encounters with psychedelics in years prior—was largely outside the realm of possibility.

The center I choose to go to had an application process intended to vet those who were perhaps less serious about the “work” aspect and more interested in seeking a mind-blowing drug experience with the “most powerful psychedelic in the world,” that offered “ten-years of therapy in a single night,” as is often claimed. In my estimation, that process wasn’t perfect, but for the most part, people who came understood they needed at least some help and might face some difficulty, though I sensed the majority were secretly hoping Ayahuasca would do the heavy lifting. Of course, I hoped for a short-cut or an easier time too, but I knew such a possibility was unlikely, and I recall mentioning in my application letter that I was anticipating an experience that would push me into territory so difficult, I would not believe I could survive it.

As it turned out, I was not wrong in my prediction; but I was wrong, in that, this foreknowledge prepared me little for just how difficult the actual experience would be. In the end, I greatly underestimated the magnitude of the physical-emotional challenges to come, and at the height of the intensity during the second ceremony, I was fully convinced that I would not be coming home or ever be getting out of the hellscape I found myself in. For those who afford me the honor of reading the book when it’s complete, you’ll likely be surprised to learn why it went this way, and you may have a hard time determining if Ayahuasca was necessary at all, and if so, to what degree. But for now, there are a couple of things worth highlighting, as they relate to the integration phase of the work—perhaps the most overlooked and important aspect of the work—and how and why I published this original post in the first place, all those years ago.

Before I ever landed in Peru, I had never envisioned myself on the other side of the therapeutic equation in a group setting, which easily could have led to significant missed opportunities for myself and the group I was with. For some reason, perhaps because I, a professional counselor with loads of experience, was facing challenges that I couldn’t resolve on my own, I failed to recognize any potentially important wisdom I had gathered prior that might be of use now, and I certainly did not consider that perhaps some of my problem was simply related to the impossibility of trying to occupy both roles—the helper and the helped—and maybe I was stuck because I was attempting the impossible? And if that was the case, maybe the primary adjustment needed now was to fully step out of the facilitator identity and into the role of someone who was in need of, and deserving of, being helped.

What I do know is that during my second ceremony—the single most challenging and excruciatingly painful experience I have endured to date—Ayahuasca forced me to choose, and she helped me choose wisely. With help, I survived the night. As I prepared myself for the second sharing circle to come the following morning, it was pretty clear that I would have to remain in that role. I reflected on all the most incredible transformations I experienced over the course of my professional career, and I wondered what utility the lessons from those experiences might have now, here, for us all, in this setting. Reflecting on the experience like the one I describe in the section to follow, I knew I had to find the strength and the courage to find out, to see what might happen if I took instruction from my bravest clients in the past.

I walked into this sharing circle knowing the role I was to occupy for the remainder of my time there: I was a participant, not a facilitator, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t learned some important things from my prior time as facilitator that could instruct me. As we took out seats in the circle, I positioned myself toward where it would begin, and I believe I was third in the order. As I took hold of the talking stick that was passed to me—which designated speaker from listener in the arrangement—I paused as I looked around the group of fellow participants before I started down the dreaded path of raw honesty and vulnerability guided by the example a few brave souls modeled for me in my office in years past, pausing only to regain the ability to speak as waves of intense emotion and tears quickly began pouring out of me. When I was able to utter the words, I highlighted some of the horrors from my past and why I was really there in the jungle. I moved to sharing the debilitating suicidal ideation that had come for a permanent visit the year prior. I shared my fears of life, of death, and the undercurrent of shame and embarrassment that I, as a professional counselor, could not navigate my way out of.

Even though this kind of vulnerability had been modeled for me several times before; I wondered if it was safe for me to be doing this here, when I was no longer in the facilitator role. In the end, there were two factors pushing me to find out: 1) I was in real trouble and I needed help. Further, I had closed my practice and sold my first home just to make this experience possible. The sacrifices were immense and I wasn’t getting back on that boat and then on that plane, without doing everything in my power to get what I came there for. And 2) the thought of not taking such a risk felt nauseatingly disrespectful to those who originally brought these gifts and this wisdom to me and others years ago, and I knew I could not live with not reciprocating in this moment. Failing to do so would have been dishonoring and disrespectful and I knew that. And I knew that if I were to ever return to counseling in the future that I would no longer be able to ask someone to take similar risks with me if I didn’t do so now. Thankfully, that was enough motivation, because it was a very difficult thing to do.

When I finished, I lifted my head, turned my tear-soaked gaze to the late Howard Lawler—the owner, shaman, and wise elder of the center—thanked him for his life-saving help the night before, offered my commitment to continue if he would have it, and trepidatiously withdrew my resignation from the night before (yes, I had quit; that is, as much as you can during an ongoing psychedelic experience, and I vowed that if I survived, it would be my last foray with any psychedelic ever again). I then turned to face the group, scanning for the judgement or misunderstanding I feared most. No such judgement came my way, only kind stares, a few teary eyes, and a sense of appreciation that was recognizable. In the end, most importantly, I learned that the lesson offered years earlier was trustworthy and transferable, and I was immensely grateful in that moment. Many of those who followed me elected to wander into some increased honesty and vulnerability as well, just as I saw occur in every group I facilitated when something similar happened. By the end, it wasn’t only my tears that blessed the holy ground we sat on, and it was a beautiful experience to be a part of. Before we broke for lunch, Howard concluded with a common phrase of his: “See, as I’ve said, it’s not all in the cup.”

After, as we gathered in the dining area, many people came to share more with me about how much they appreciated the risk I took, and a couple people sent me private messages after we had all returned home, letting me know how that experience had stuck with him, one adding that it was one of the most impactful things he took from his time in the jungle.

The compliments and the appreciation touched me deeply, but a fear to match was building. I kept hearing another one of Howard’s teachings replay in my mind: “The spirit world operates on reciprocity.” Before then, I could use the common excuse and misunderstanding that we are all different in our psychological/therapeutic needs in order to get away from any responsibility that I may have had in making these lessons freely available to a world in such profound need.

As I touched on earlier, integration work is painfully overlooked in the psychedelic therapy movement, and it could be argued that there is likely to be little lasting benefit without it. Too many clients and practitioners today continue to clutch to the hope that the psychedelic will absolve them of their work, and in some cases—such as those where the psychedelic experience leads one into the most profoundly beautiful, blissful states—it is easy to believe the psychedelic did just that, especially when the “high” from those experiences lasts for days or weeks after. Like many, these were my first experiences with psychedelics too, and I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that I thought I was impervious to the proverbial “bad trip.” Thankfully, in the end, I wasn’t impervious, and I had learned prior that this is most often where the lasting benefit comes from, if in a properly supported setting. My early experiences were hugely valuable and important, just not total or complete in any way, and I was now in the unforgiving phase where the integration work was getting more difficult in every way possible.

I left that retreat without many of the defenses I had when I arrived. Of course, this was necessary in the end, but it made navigating life even more difficult when I returned (a potential that I find dangerously unconsidered with psychedelic therapies in general). There was no going back, however. Many painful endings were quickly coming into view, and there was also the clear instruction to translate the gifts I was entrusted with as well. This wouldn’t be the worst assignment, unless of course, the lessons didn’t challenge the most taboo subject material of our times, and the dread of facing that on top of the overwhelming weightiness of the task itself was more than I could bear initially, and I never did put the pen to paper.

Many events between 2015 and 2017 will be shared later, but suffice to say for now that this time was filled with enough challenge that I decided to go back for another round of treatment in 2017 (without even beginning some of the work I had been given two-years prior). This time I had two primary goals: 1) I needed help processing some of the significant losses and the traumatic events that came after returning home in 2015, and 2) I was really hoping I somehow misunderstood what was asked of me in 2015, and was looking for a different assignment to undertake than translator of what I learned from my time in the therapy room.

It may not be as surprising that I got a lot less therapeutic benefit from my second trip. Instead, I gained a couple dear friendships and a reminder that the Gods weren’t all that interested in negotiating. So, when I got back from that retreat—fear and uncertainty in tow—I got to work: I starting with creating the website (certainly not my specialty) and the repository of the best and most useful work I had come across over the years, and I began my translating work and published the piece that follows. It hasn’t gotten any easier in many ways, but I can say that with every post or update, brick by brick, more and more of the spiritual debt burden I left with in 2015 is lifted. Of course, this has also shown me that until the book is finished, my spirit work won’t be finished in this regard, and while it still feels like I’ll never get there, following the last post on the topic of addiction, I can now say that the website portion is nearing completion. I honestly can’t believe it.

Now, anyone who now wants or needs a reliable therapeutic roadmap has freely available access to one. Yes, some of the learning I suggest will take some extended work, including multiple reads (or views, or listens) in order to fully benefit from it, but if committed, I feel comfortable saying that I ended with something far superior to what I had been given by the time I left my doctoral program. When I set out on this journey, I wanted to create a repository of information that could have saved me years of time and thousands of dollars if I had been given such instruction and guidance sooner. And even with one more effort to complete (the book), I feel confident I accomplished that goal with where the site and the information contained within sits currently.

It’s a bit surreal to go back through where I first started this project and see that the lessons still hold, and that only the writing needed some clean-up work. And with that, here is the slightly altered original publication containing the most important lesson that was ever shown to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading, incorporating, or sharing in response. The world needs this wisdom now more than ever.

“Why Are Men So Angry?”

A major portion of my clinical background involved working as a domestic violence treatment provider for male offenders. In the end, it would be the truly brave and courageous men (though I did not initially meet any of them under that presentation), who ultimately provided me the answer to this question.

Of course, this question—in its generalized phrasing—suggests that all men are pathologically angry, and that only men have anger problems. To be clear, that is most certainly not the case. However, in light of the increasing prevalence of mass shootings,[1] acts of intimate partner violence,[2] and even increasing rates of suicide among men (anger turned inwards),[3] it is fair to say that many men are, in fact, very angry.

For those whom the label of “angry” applies, the short answer as to why would go something like this: “Because we are hurt, sad, ashamed, lonely, and extremely afraid at times, but we were made aware very early on that such afflictions are unacceptable for men in modern society, and we learned to suppress both our awareness and the natural expression of these emotional states at all costs in response.” For some men, simply reading this will evoke feelings of anger, as many do not wish to run the risk of aligning themselves with emotions they’ve been taught to associate with the feminine and the weak. The potential interpersonal and social consequences are just too great.

To illustrate further, it may be useful to understand what anger actually is. Anger is a defense strategy and a secondary emotion (not to be confused with second-rate, unimportant, or unnecessary). This means that anger does not exist on its own, and it deploys to defend and protect against the experience of primary emotions. While anger is a very real and powerful emotion—even appropriate and useful at times—it will never be present as an isolated emotional state. There will always be at least one primary emotion feeding the secondary emotion of anger, which is true for all human beings—women included—even if it can’t be immediately or consciously identified at first. As such, anytime someone is angry, that anger is the result of an unidentified, and/or an unexpressed, primary emotion. As referenced above, anger is often precipitated by the primary emotions: hurt, sadness, loneliness, shame, and fear, to name a few of the more common drivers. And yes, men have the capacity to experience these important and natural human emotions too, but with few exceptions, for the reasons described earlier, most will never let anyone know that—man or woman.

Most men were trained to conceal these primary emotions, and many became very skilled at avoidance, repression, and/or dissociation, just as they were taught as young children. Even if the memory has taken residence in the unconscious, many will never forget their societal initiation into male-hood. For most young boys, this initiation was so painful that they resigned themselves to emotional shut-down—pretending that their bodies, and their souls, could uphold this archetype of what it means to be a “man” in today’s world. Against the will of their own divine nature, they took an oath to protect this archetype, for denouncing it would only open them up to more of what drove them to take it in the first place: more potential shame, embarrassment, and humiliation. To risk feeling or expressing any of those emotions again, is simply something that most men are not yet willing to do.

Of course, this strategy does not eliminate or resolve any of the primary emotions and therein lies the problem. Sadly, most treatment approaches collude in this effort, either out of fear or ignorance. One such example would be the invention of “anger management” treatment programs, where a myriad of “coping strategies” (often more avoidance techniques) are taught in effort to help “control” or respond better to one’s anger or aggressive impulses. Unfortunate, yes, but “anger resolution,” has not yet been considered at scale, though it became the focus of my practice, and I’ve tried to promote it as a necessary and viable alternative when and where applicable.

Men have been operating this way for a very long time, making it an even more difficult habit to break. And without a sign that it is safe to come out of hiding, many remain hostage to these deeply held, long-standing norms. So, the next time you hear about an angry man committing some horrible act of violence, you can be assured that it is not the result of genetics or too much testosterone, nor will it be the result of having access to weapons, as the news channels and politicians will continue to claim. Instead, these actions will have been fueled by the intense psychological pain that could no longer be contained. Of course, this claim offers no excuse, only an explanation, and a demonstration of just how much pain some men are in. “Hurt people, hurt people”; I learned from my clinical work, and would frequently say over the years, and no individual hurts another individual, a community, or themselves—physically or emotionally—unless they themselves are deeply hurting, even if on an unconscious level. Tragic, to be sure, for victims and perpetrator alike.

Can this phenomenon end? How will it end? I am not entirely sure; however, I am fairly confident that it will require two things: 1) we will have to stop socializing our young boys this way, and 2) more and more men will have to take the incredible risk to be among the first to model these necessary changes by ceasing their participation in these unhealthy physical-emotional acts of suppression. It’s very difficult to break old, dysfunctional paradigms, but break it we must, if we ever wish to live in a healthier society.

My experience has shown me that this change is possible (though very difficult); the rising rates of homicide, intimate partner violence, and suicide, show me that it is imperative. I will never forget the first brave man who took that leap in a group I was facilitating many years ago. This man was nearly fully resigned in life—his entire body overtaken by pain and despondence. One evening, he began to share something, and the dam broke. He attempted to engage his conditioned response and repress these emotions once more, but there was no hope this time: it was all coming out—a primary physical-emotional release of what he was carrying for years. Thankfully, in one sense, this man had given up. With his tank as full as it was, he was no longer able to hold back his tears or resist their full expression. Fear of what others would think, or how they would respond, would no longer be enough to keep his emotions from coming out. In that moment, he simply didn’t care; he couldn’t care.

Surprised and shocked, the rest of the group sat captivated as we witnessed an act of healing more pronounced and convincing than words can portray, and certainly more powerful than anything I had been exposed to in my clinical training to that point. And when the intensity of the sobs lessened, and the man began to calm down on his own (as will happen, if we don’t interfere with our natural biological processing), without any prompting whatsoever by myself, many fellow group members said some version of the following, “Thank you for sharing; that was powerful!” But one comment offered by a particular member would cement the lesson for me: “You scared the hell out of me! Now I know what I have to do.” As the man lifted his head, and the color drained back in, a healthy glow was restored that none of us had realized was missing before that point. Everyone knew they had witnessed true healing, and no one in the room could pretend otherwise. This was real thing.

Over the years, events of this magnitude weren’t a common occurrence, though I would see this type of emotional unfolding many more times, and without exception, similar results would follow. Since then, I always structure my treatment environment in a way that best allows for this opportunity to occur. My primary objective is creating the safest environment possible, so men can share the stories that ultimately led them to becoming angry and violent in the first place, should they find the courage to do so. For those who can muster the courage to be completely vulnerable, their problems with anger resolve. In these cases, there is no more need for “management” because primary emotions have been identified and expressed, leaving nothing hidden and held within for anger to protect.

Years ago, I grew a sizeable practice based on this philosophy and approach; in part, because it was successful where other approaches weren’t (which, the probation departments and the courts I worked with also valued). Additionally, beyond some clinical success, this understanding allowed me to become adept at predicting who would likely re-offend and who wouldn’t. It is a simple formula, which continues to guide my practice today and has yet to fail. And while it certainly applies to angry men, its implications are farther reaching (as it applies to every human being, including women). The principles are this:

• Resistance Is Persistence:
  • The suppression of primary physical-emotional material leads to the persistence of anger and other psychological maladies, including mental illness and addiction.

• Feeling Is Healing:
  • The degree to which we stop repressing our painful emotional material and (re)learn how to honor the body’s natural physical expression of primary emotions in safe and healthy ways, the healthier we become.

Hopefully one day, our society as a whole can embrace this wisdom: I predict we will make an important and necessary leap in our psychological evolution if we do.

For additional related content and resources, please visit my Resource Library by clicking here.

References:

[1] “FBI Releases Study on Active Shooter Incidents.” FBI. September 24, 2014. Accessed March 17, 2018. https://www.fbi.gov/news/stories/fbi-releases-study-on-active-shooter-incidents.

[2] “Violence Prevention.” Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. April 28, 2017. Accessed March 17, 2018. https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/nisvs/infographic.html.

[3] Tsirigotis, Konstantinos, Wojciech Gruszczynski, and Marta Tsirigotis. Medical Science Monitor: International Medical Journal of Experimental and Clinical Research. 2011. Accessed March 17, 2018. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3539603/.