ABSTRACT
A complicated bereavement? In the circles I moved in we regarded therapy, the kind dealing with personal growth not pathology, as a valued part of everyday life, indeed almost a political imperative for men. The therapist I was seeing was a man whose background and perspective were compatible with my own, who was reasonably client-centred (he saw himself as an advocate for my unconscious processes) and was affordable.* I found the continual process of discovery compelling, even at times enjoyable, and felt that working on my ‘own stuff’ helped me in my work with other people.
