Most of my clients are women—standing at a crossroads in their lives. Career shifts, relationships ending, existential reckonings. Women, I’ve found, often come to counseling before the breaking point or long after it, seeking understanding, transformation, or simply a space to breathe.
Men?
They usually come when they feel they’ve failed.
That’s why I appreciate it so much when they do. Because failure isn’t what brings them—it’s the weight of what they believe it says about them.
Terence (not his real name, but a very real client) walked into my office a few weeks ago, carrying that weight. His wife had left. And with her, it felt like his sense of purpose had disappeared too.
“I don’t know who I am without someone to love,” he admitted, his voice tight with pain.
Loss does that. It strips away the familiar, leaving behind only questions—some we try to escape, others we can’t ignore.
At first, his questions were knives. What did I do wrong? Why do they always leave? Am I just not enough? Guilt and shame wrapped around him, keeping him stuck in a loop of self-blame.
But as we unraveled the pain, a new question emerged. A quieter, more powerful one. “Why do I only feel purpose when I have someone to love?”
It’s often assumed that women struggle more with building their identity around love and relationships—society even expects it of them.
But when men do the same, it often goes unnoticed. Until, like Terence, they lose that relationship and realize they don’t know who they are without it.
He had outsourced his sense of worth. Relationships had been his anchor, his fuel, his entire identity. And every time one ended, he wasn’t just losing a partner—he was losing himself.
But pain, as cruel as it is, is also a teacher.
We started shifting the focus. Not to why they left but to who he was—without the role of the giver, the caretaker, the one who tried so hard to be enough. Who was he beyond that? What dreams, passions, and desires were his, independent of anyone else?
Loss had taken something from him, but it had also left something behind—a chance to rebuild, this time with himself at the center.
Because every loss carries a lesson. And every lesson makes you wiser.
If Love Leaves, Do You?
Terence’s story isn’t unique.
It’s one of the most human struggles I see—especially in men who come to counseling.
The pain point?
Building a life around love, instead of building love into your life.
For Terence, every relationship had been the foundation of his purpose. He was the best version of himself for someone else. And when that someone left, the whole structure collapsed. No partner meant no motivation. No external validation meant no direction.
Sound familiar?
Maybe you’ve felt it too—that sense that you only truly live when you’re in love, when someone chooses you. And when that’s gone, you’re left wondering… Who am I without them? What’s the point?
What If You Became the Anchor Instead of Relying on One?
This is the shift.
It’s not about detaching from love, avoiding relationships, or “going it alone.” It’s about creating a life where love enhances your purpose, not defines it.
For Terence, this meant:
• Identifying what actually fueled him—outside of a relationship.
• Exploring personal goals, passions, and experiences just for himself.
• Learning to give to others without losing himself in the process.
Where Do You Start? (Self-Inquiry for You)
If Terence’s story feels personal to you, here’s a place to begin. Sit with these questions—write about them, reflect on them, or just let them simmer:
1. Who am I outside of my relationships? What parts of me exist regardless of who I love?
2. What genuinely excites me? Not what should excite me, not what impresses others—what actually makes me feel alive?
3. Where do I place my self-worth? Do I feel valuable only when I’m giving, supporting, or being chosen?
4. What have I abandoned in myself to maintain love? Are there dreams, interests, or even personality traits I’ve set aside for the sake of a relationship?
5. How can I start building a sense of self that isn’t dependent on someone else? What is one thing I can do for myself today?
Self-inquiry isn’t about fixing yourself—it’s about finding yourself.
The Ideal Result?
Resilience.
Not the kind that hardens you, but the kind that allows you to love deeply without losing your sense of self. When love is no longer your only source of motivation, a breakup doesn’t feel like the end of you—it’s “just” the end of a chapter.
Terence’s story isn’t over. He’s still learning, still rebuilding. But for the first time, he’s excited about something that isn’t tied to someone else.
And that? That’s a different kind of love—one that never leaves you.
Want to Master the 5 Levels of Self-Listening?
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