He came to therapy because his wife had reached a breaking point.

According to her, he was self-absorbed, emotionally absent, and completely disengaged from the relationship. She felt lonely in the marriage and deeply hurt by how little attention he paid to her. Eventually, she stopped hinting and started demanding change.

To his credit, he came.

He was thoughtful, intelligent, and highly functional. An in-house attorney at a major real estate firm, he carried himself with competence and professionalism. But emotionally and socially, especially in his marriage, things were far more complicated.

During one particular session, he told me about a family simcha that had taken place over Shabbos.

“I scored pretty poorly,” he said.

I asked him what he meant.

“I didn’t make conversation with anyone,” he explained. “I felt awkward the whole time.”

“What bothered you?” I asked.

He thought for a moment.

“I guess… it bothers me that I can’t do something that seems so easy for everyone else. It makes me feel different. Maybe weird.”

“What else bothers you about it?” I asked.

He paused for a while but struggled to come up with another answer.

I told him that was okay. I wasn’t assuming there was something else bothering him. I was just checking.

Then I reflected back to him.

“It bothers you to feel different from others. It feels strange not being naturally social when everyone else seems to be. Something you didn’t mention is feeling upset that you’re unable to connect with others. I noticed that you didn’t say anything along the lines of- you wished you could bond more deeply with people or that you felt lonely sitting there.”

He listened carefully and nodded.

“In other words,” I continued, “it seems that your motivation for wanting to be able to socialize more is mostly because you don’t want to feel different… and because your wife has made it clear that this is becoming a serious issue between you two.”

He again nodded slowly.

I happened to have known that he was unhappy professionally and that he often dreamt about leaving his current position for a better one. So I challenged him.

“Let me ask you,” I said, “if I told you that there was a man at a local simcha tonight who was looking to hire a lawyer with exactly your experience — and he was willing to pay double your current salary — would you have a problem walking over and introducing yourself?”

He immediately smiled.

“Just tell me where the simcha is and who the guy is.”

Exactly.

Of course he could talk to people.

Of course he knew how to communicate.

The issue wasn’t inability. It was motivation.

At a family simcha, sitting next to distant relatives or people he barely knew, he simply wasn’t curious enough about them. He wasn’t particularly interested in where they lived or what they did for a living. Sitting quietly with a Chumash open in front of him felt far more natural and comfortable.

And truthfully, there is nothing inherently wrong with that.

But there was another reality he needed to confront: relationships often require us to move beyond our natural comfort zone.

Especially in marriage.

His wife experienced his quietness not as peacefulness or introversion, but as disinterest. To her, his lack of engagement felt personal.

The bottom line was simple: for him speaking to strangers took effort, and human beings generally only exert themselves when the motivation is meaningful enough.

So I told him that if he truly wanted to change, our work would involve two things:

Increasing motivation.

And lowering discomfort.

But then I added something else.

“I’m not going to tell you that you need to become like everyone else. I’m not going to tell you there’s something wrong with being different. And I’m not going to force you to suddenly become fascinated by every person sitting next to you at a simcha. That part is your choice and the ball is in your court. If you want it, I am here for you”

Something visibly shifted in him when I said that.

For perhaps the first time, he felt understood instead of judged.

So many husbands walk around feeling chronically criticized. They hear endless variations of, “Why can’t you just change?” Eventually, they stop feeling safe enough to even explore change because every conversation already feels like an accusation.

For a man real change begins when a person feels autonomous to make his own decisions.

Ironically, the moment he no longer feels pressured to become someone else is the moment he becomes more open to changing who he is.

*Details may have been changed to protect confidentiality and to enhance the story line.

Yaacov Weiss, LCSW, specializes in helping men find healthier and more stable footing in marriage. He can be reached at [email protected]