For many high-achieving men, anxiety is treated like a faulty "check engine" light on a dashboard. The instinct is to find a way to switch it off, ignore it, or—if you’re particularly driven—tape over it so you can keep on driving. You might view your racing heart, tight chest, or restless mind as a biological "glitch" that interferes with your performance and your logic.

But what if that anxiety isn’t a mistake? What if it is a sophisticated, albeit uncomfortable, piece of communication from your body?

If you are like many of the men I see in my Preston practice, you have spent your life operating under a very specific set of rules: Your value is equal to your utility. You believe that if you work harder, earn more, hit that next promotion, or maintain a certain physique, you will finally feel "enough." This is the achievement treadmill. You run faster and faster, but the sense of internal security—that feeling of being fundamentally "okay" regardless of your output—remains just out of reach.

If you’ve spent a lifetime viewing emotions as a threat to your logic or your control, you likely oscillate between two extremes: Total Suppression (the "Emotional Hangover" where everything is pushed down until it numbs you) or Total Overwhelm (the "Flooding" where anger or anxiety hits like a tidal wave).

In therapy, we don't just talk about feelings; we learn the skill of Emotional Regulation. This isn't about "policing" your emotions—it’s about expanding your capacity to sit with them without being swept away.

The UK Government recently announced a new curriculum aimed at tackling "misogyny" and "toxic masculinity" among schoolboys. While the stated goal of fostering respect and safety is noble, the proposed method—a state-mandated curriculum focusing on the "flaws" of masculinity—is deeply concerning.

People-pleasing is not kindness; it’s an unsustainable strategy for managing anxiety and fear. It’s the constant performance of agreement designed to guarantee one thing: safety from abandonment, rejection, or conflict.

In therapy, we understand that authentic relationships do not come from endless compliance. They come from having the courage to define, hold, and communicate your boundaries.

That voice in your head. The one that wakes you up at 3 AM to itemise your failures. The one that whispers you're "lazy" if you take a break, or "stupid" if you make a mistake. You call it your conscience. You might even believe it’s helping you—driving you towards success, preventing you from getting complacent.

I call it your Inner Critic, and frankly, it’s not your friend. It’s an unhelpful, aggressive saboteur rooted in your past. The toxic noise it generates is built almost entirely on the word "should."

"I should have worked harder." "I should be further along by now." "I should never let my family down."

If you’re struggling with self-esteem, anxiety, or burnout, it’s time to stop listening to this tyrannical voice and understand where it came from and why it lies to you.

In therapy, we often see that suppressed anger—anger that is denied, swallowed, or turned inward—is a major, hidden contributor to anxiety and depression, particularly for men struggling with the confines of the male gender script.

As a psychotherapist, I've seen first-hand how this ingrained message fuels a relentless pressure to conform, leading to what Dr. John Barry calls the male gender script. This script dictates that men must be independent, stoic, competitive, and above all, emotionally invulnerable. And it’s slowly, quietly, hurting men.

Let’s be direct: You feel jealous. You see your partner talking a little too closely to someone else, or you notice a subtle shift in their attention, and that familiar, tight knot forms in your gut. Maybe it's a cold spike of fear, or a hot rush of suspicion.

If you’re like many men, you immediately feel a second, more painful emotion: Shame.

Being a reliable partner is a beautiful thing. But a healthy, loving relationship requires two people to be messy, imperfect human beings who take turns holding the space for one another. You deserve to be in a relationship where you are loved for who you are, not for what you do.

If your relationships feel less like partnerships and more like projects, it's time to put down the toolbox and start working on the core beliefs that keep it there.

It might sound like something a psychotherapist would say, but the evidence is robust. The way you learned to connect, or not connect, as a child, created a kind of emotional blueprint for all your future relationships.

For many men, a long-term romantic partnership is not merely a component of their life—it is a central pillar of their identity and purpose. The relationship provides not only companionship but also a crucial source of emotional validation and meaning. When that relationship ends, it can feel like a "loss of self," leaving a man with a sense of being "helpless and aimless". The pain is not just from losing a partner but from losing a part of himself.

When you accept yourself, you're more resilient in the face of stress and adversity, experience fewer negative emotions, and generally feel a deeper sense of meaning and purpose in life. It even boosts positive emotions, which can lead to increased psychological energy and more positive social interactions.

Retroactive jealousy is a specific form of jealousy focused on past events or relationships that occurred before the current relationship began. It's not about a current threat; it's about a perceived threat from the past that can feel very real and consuming. For men, this can manifest in various ways, from obsessively replaying scenarios in their minds to interrogating their partners about past experiences, often leading to arguments and a breakdown of trust.

Feeling unsure of yourself? Do you often second-guess your decisions or shy away from new opportunities? You're not alone. Many people struggle with low confidence and self-esteem. The good news is, backed by peer-reviewed psychotherapy research, there are effective ways to boost these crucial aspects of your well-being, both on your own and with the support of a skilled professional.

Ever feel like you're playing out the same frustrating scenes in your relationships, whether with family, friends, or even colleagues? One minute you're trying to help, the next you're feeling attacked, or maybe you're the one feeling helpless and looking for a rescuer. If this sounds familiar, you might be caught in the invisible web of Karpman's Drama Triangle.

Ever found yourself inexplicably picking a fight with a perfectly lovely partner? Or perhaps you've noticed a pattern of gravitating towards relationships that feel… well, a bit turbulent? You're not alone. Sometimes, even when we consciously yearn for a healthy and fulfilling romance, our unconscious minds can steer us towards familiar, albeit unhealthy, patterns. It's a perplexing phenomenon, but one that psychotherapy research sheds valuable light on.

Ever found yourself inexplicably picking a fight with a perfectly lovely partner? Or perhaps you've noticed a pattern of gravitating towards relationships that feel… well, a bit turbulent? You're not alone. Sometimes, even when we consciously yearn for a healthy and fulfilling romance, our unconscious minds can steer us towards familiar, albeit unhealthy, patterns. It's a perplexing phenomenon, but one that psychotherapy research sheds valuable light on.

Ever feel like you're stuck in a familiar pattern, a recurring narrative that whispers negativity in your ear? Chances are, you're encountering the powerful influence of your core beliefs. These deeply ingrained assumptions about ourselves, others, and the world around us act as the fundamental building blocks of our thoughts, feelings, and behaviours. While some core beliefs can be positive and empowering, negative ones can cast a long shadow, significantly impacting our well-being.

We all know someone who seems to have it all together. Their homes are spotless, their work is flawless, and they never seem to put a foot wrong. While admiration might be our first reaction, beneath this veneer of flawlessness often lies a powerful, and sometimes damaging, force: perfectionism. Far from being a virtue, pervasive perfectionism can act as a surprisingly robust defence mechanism, and its relentless grip can cast a long shadow over someone's life.