How Do You Help Someone Help Themselves?

I’m in the final meeting of an intensive program with a young man in his twenties. When I first met him, his mother had set up a Discovery Assessment for him. He was stuck at home, feeling empty, drowning in depression and anxiety that had escalated into occasional panic attacks. He seemed completely adrift; no direction, no sense of value. He was only in my office because his mother insisted.

At that first meeting, he sat across from me, skeptical but desperate enough to listen. He experienced one of our technology rooms so he could get a sense of what it felt like and what a session would look like. Then we sat down to discuss his struggles and what he hoped, if anything, could change. Slowly, he began to open up. I fully assessed his situation so I could lay out a program tailored to his unique struggles, explaining the science, the engineering, the breakthroughs. He was intrigued but doubtful. Like so many, he feared he was uniquely broken, the exception to the rule. Maybe it worked for others, but for him? It wouldn’t work.

Yet, with his mother’s encouragement, he took the leap anyway. He showed up, settled into one of our zero-gravity tech-chairs as comfortably as he could, and let the technologies do their work.

And now, after his last session, I sit across from him, and he’s like a new man, becoming the man he was meant to be. The panic attacks have stopped. His nervous system has calmed. His mornings are no longer weighed down by dread; he wakes up refreshed and motivated. With these barriers removed, he has started making plans and forming connections. He’s signed up for some college courses, met a girl he might be interested in, and reconnected with his parents in ways he never had before. His world, once dark and narrow, is expanding.

I thank him for his trust in us and tell him how excited I am that he’s out there moving forward, doing good in the world. We need more men like him. He shakes my hand, his eyes bright and confident, and says, 'God bless you.

Ten minutes later, I walk into another meeting.

This time, it’s a man in his late fifties, here with his wife. He doesn’t want to be here. He’s made that clear. She insisted.

He had a successful career as an engineer, but over the past decade, something shifted. His motivation drained. Sleep became a nightly battle against racing, negative thoughts. His doctor prescribed an antidepressant. Over-the-counter sleep meds became routine. But the problems remained.

And now, he sits across from me, arms crossed, his eyes scanning for flaws in me and my office. He’s here to prove to his wife that this is all nonsense.

I push myself to stay focused and work to understand him, his struggles, and his goals. Much of what I learn, I have fortunately heard many times before from others, often in even more difficult circumstances. This gives me the confidence to lay out a program tailored specifically for him. It is an efficient, scientifically sound system designed to address his exact issues.

I walk him through the technologies, the neuroscience, and the research. He listens, and I can see he’s absorbing much of what I’m sharing, processing it. I can see that he understands.

But will he move forward for himself, for his wife, and for his family?

That, I don't know.

He could step forward, take the chance, and experience the changes firsthand. Or he could remain in this slow decline, facing restless nights, deepening depression, and an ever-widening chasm between himself and his family. His work performance may continue to slip. His marriage may strain under the weight of his unaddressed struggles.

I see the fork in the road before him clearly. But does he?

I leave the meeting with hope for him and his family. But I also know that while some will move forward, others will turn away, stuck in a downward spiral, unable to see the way out.

I can’t help but think that if I could just get him into the program, everything would become clearer. As some of these barriers come down, it would help him see this opportunity and its potential impact on his life. But right now, he’s in a difficult place, and that very struggle is clouding his ability to recognize what might be best for him, what his wife desperately wants for him.

Later, I sit with my team and we reflect on a question we’ve considered many times over the years: How can we help people who are struggling to help themselves?

We all have blind spots, places where we get stuck, unable to see what’s holding us back. None of us are immune to this struggle. In those moments, we must embrace the power of humility and recognize that we need family, friends, or someone we trust to help us see what we might be missing.