Top 10 things Gay Men Say in Therapy
The other day, one of my clients said something that landed with the kind of weight you don’t forget: “I don’t know how to stop performing. Even in here, I’m trying to make you like me.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. In fact, I think it was the fourth time that week. The words hit like a soft echo, bouncing around my therapy room, gently brushing the edges of so many other stories. And they stirred something in me, too—because I know that feeling.
When I first started my own personal therapy, I remember sitting across from my therapist and realizing I was carefully curating every word, every gesture—like I was auditioning for the role of “healthy, well-adjusted gay man.” I wasn’t lying, but I wasn’t being honest either. It took a few sessions before I could stop scanning the room for approval and start speaking like someone who wanted to be understood, not just accepted.
That moment got me thinking: what are the real things gay men say in therapy? What are the truths that bubble up when the masks finally fall away? As a therapist who works primarily with gay men in Texas, I hear a wide range of experiences—funny, painful, liberating, lonely, beautiful. But again and again, there are certain truths that come back like familiar refrains. I want to share ten of them here, because I think there’s power in hearing your own experience reflected back. And if even one of these resonates with you, maybe it’s time to start your own conversation.
“I don’t know how to stop performing. Even in here, I’m trying to make you like me.”
We learned early that our safety depended on being likable, agreeable, non-threatening. Sometimes, even therapy becomes another stage.
“I came out, but every time I hold my boyfriend’s hand in public… I feel ashamed.”
Coming out is an ongoing process, not a one-and-done moment. Visibility is brave—and exhausting.
“I’ve never had sex that felt safe and connected.”
So many of us missed out on learning intimacy without fear, secrecy, or shame. It’s never too late to reclaim that.
“I was the emotional support child for my mom, and I don’t know how to be in relationships now.”
Being everything for someone else can make it hard to know what it means to just be.
“I don’t know how to stop craving validation from men who’ve hurt me.”
We chase familiar pain because it feels like home. But we can learn new ways to feel worthy.
“I’m still struggling with self-hate… but for the first time, it’s getting better.”
Healing isn’t linear, and self-acceptance doesn’t arrive overnight. But it does arrive.
“I’ve spent so long adapting to what everyone else needed me to be—I don’t know who I am when I’m not performing.”
A lifetime of shape-shifting can leave us disconnected from our core. Therapy is a place to rediscover yourself, not just survive others’ expectations.Sometimes grief opens doors we didn’t know were closed. Sorting through longing, memory, and guilt can be confusing—but it’s not wrong to want comfort, even if it’s complicated.
“I hate that the meds that help my mood also kill my sex drive. I miss wanting to be touched.”
The trade-offs in mental health treatment are real. And you’re not alone in navigating them.
“I was forced into conversion therapy at 17; I stayed silent the whole time.”
What was done to you was wrong. And it’s okay to talk about it now.
“Big pressure to be perfect… and I used steroids just to feel accepted in gay spaces.”
Our bodies are not our worth. But it’s hard to unlearn that when the culture keeps whispering otherwise.
Each of these confessions holds a story.
Sometimes they’re whispered. Sometimes they’re sobbed. But always, they carry the weight of survival.
If you saw yourself in any of these, I hope you’ll consider reaching out. Therapy isn’t about fixing what’s broken—it’s about honoring what you’ve been through, understanding where you are now, and gently making space for something new.
You don’t have to do it alone.
If you’re ready to talk, I’m here. Let’s begin. Reach out to set an appointment with Scotty today.