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When someone we love is grieving, most of us freeze. We're not taught how to help, and our discomfort gets in the way. This post offers practical, compassionate ways to show up—without relying on worn-out phrases or emotional guesswork.

True authenticity isn’t about perfection or polished outcomes. It’s about the willingness to risk being fully seen. Practicing a conversation doesn’t have to be a form of manipulation or performance. It can be a way to stay more grounded and present, to get clearer about what we need to say and why.

Sometimes I gaslight myself. I think something’s really wrong, but then I spiral—‘Doctors say I’m fine, so maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the problem.’ And then you’re in this Spoonie loop: physical health, mental health, anxiety, self-blame. It’s relentless. And when your symptoms are invisible, it’s even harder to trust yourself…

“It sucks here, but sometimes it’s kind of nice.” That’s how we describe the Spooniverse. This group—of therapists who also live with chronic illness—wasn’t built to fix anything. It was built so we could stop doing it alone. We talk about grief, weird symptoms, feeling like a burden, and yes, peeing our pants. But we also laugh—a lot. Because even when bodies fail us, connection doesn’t.

For those of us who have grown up as siblings of individuals with disabilities with high support needs, it can feel strange (or even wrong) to acknowledge the complexity of that experience. Many of us carry deep care and fierce loyalty toward our siblings, but also feelings of confusion, frustration, sadness, or loss. These emotions can be hard to name, especially in an ableist world that continually devalues disabled lives.

One of the ways I know therapy is going well is when it starts to feel like we’re freestyling together. Not because we’re rapping (though I wouldn’t be mad about that), but because there’s a shared flow—a mutual presence and rhythm to our interaction. We’re co-creating something in real time, improvising with whatever is happening in the moment, not from a rehearsed script, polished character, or careful performance.

What happens when men are encouraged to cut off parts of themselves to fit into a narrow definition of masculinity? In this honest, nuanced conversation, three male therapists unpack how traditional gender norms shape emotional isolation—and how therapy offers a space to reconnect with tenderness, vulnerability, and real relational strength.