A Mother, Her Son, and the Manosphere

Priya, a 38-year-old financial consultant, comes in alone, hoping to convince her 13-year-old son Declan to join the next session along with his dad, who she describes as “my best friend and a very involved co-parent.” After sitting down, she shows you her phone’s screensaver: the three of them smiling at a mini-golf course, their faces dappled with sunlight, arms interlinked. Declan refused to come, Priya says, “even when I said I was seeing you for help on being a better parent.” He’d just rolled his eyes and said, “You’re a fine parent, mom.” She glances down as she admits to peeking at his group texts (“I know I shouldn’t spy on him, but I get scared”) and some of what she’s found has unsettled her: screenshots of explicit and even violent images, slurs, sexual language, a low-grade, casual brutality in the tone and content of text exchanges. “When I tried to talk to him about it, he told me I don’t understand. ‘This is just how kids talk.’”

Priya shares that until a few months ago, Declan would spontaneously tell her about his day, his friendships, even his feelings. Now any attempt to connect elicits the statement “I’m good,” without Declan so much as looking up from his phone. Something else has shifted too. Even though he hasn’t hit puberty yet, he’s working out at the gym a lot and spending a lot of time in the bathroom with the door locked. “I found a jaw exerciser and eyebrow dye shoved under his bathroom sink.” Priya casually told him he was handsome a few days ago and he nearly started crying. “You don’t get it, mom. My canthal tilt is off, my midface ratio is too long. Objectively speaking, I’m ugly.” A week ago, when she mentioned scheduling a pediatric checkup, he asked whether the doctor would check his testosterone levels.

“You have kids, right?” Priya says finally, giving you a warm smile as she plucks something off her sleeve. “So, what do you think? Am I overreacting?”

Resourcing Mom’s Emotional Attachment System

By George Faller

Earlier in my career, I thought my job was to solve problems. If a parent came in distressed, I immediately offered reassurance, advice, or strategies. My intentions were good and I wanted to help, but I often moved too quickly past the live emotional experience in the room that was driving the problem. My therapeutic results were uninspiring.

Things began to change when I shifted my focus from fixing to connecting, one of the defining features of Emotionally Focused Therapy.

In Priya’s case, I just need to wait for an emotional signal to activate, and then join it.

As Priya asked if she was overreacting, I observed her rubbing her arms.

Me: I notice you’re rubbing your arms as you talk about Declan. Sometimes our bodies tell us something before we have words for it. What do you notice happening inside right now?

Priya: I guess…I’m anxious.

Me: That makes sense. Before we even talk about Declan’s behavior, I want to acknowledge what your body is telling us. Your nervous system knows how important this relationship is.

I point toward the phone she had shown me earlier.

Me: That picture of the three of you at mini golf says a lot. I don’t just see a family smiling. I see a mother who treasures her relationship with her son. When you replay in your head the moment you try to talk with him and hear, “I’m good,” without him even looking up, what happens inside?

Priya’s eyes widen.

Priya: I panic. My stomach starts swirling.

In EFT, we begin by finding what we call an emotional handle—a thread of experience we can gently grasp and assemble. As we slow the moment down, we start to organize the different pieces of an emotional signal—sensations, feelings, thoughts, and action tendencies—into a coherent attachment message. Once the message is clear, it can finally be responded to with care.

Me: Can you stay with that swirling feeling? What do you think it’s communicating?

Priya closes her eyes.

Priya: He’s putting himself in danger. There’s so much he doesn’t know about this world. If he keeps pushing me away, I won’t be able to help him.

Tears appear in her eyes.

Me: And when that fear shows up, what do you find yourself doing?

Priya: I ask questions. Lots of questions. I know it doesn’t help, but I can’t stop. [crying] I’m terrified of losing him.

I quietly slide the tissue box toward her.

Me: I’m really glad you’re letting me see these tears. They tell me how much Declan matters to you. When you say, “I’m losing him,” I don’t hear a mother who’s overreacting. I hear a mother whose heart is breaking because the closeness you once had feels like it’s slipping away. That would terrify any parent.

Priya nods appreciatively.

The Caregiving System

The real problem for Priya isn’t a lack of parenting skills, but her blocked caregiving system. The more threatened a parent gets by a child’s behavior, the harder it becomes for them to focus on and read their child’s experience. When the parent’s own attachment alarm is blaring, their caregiving capacity often goes offline. At its core, my job in family therapy is surprisingly simple: help a parent’s caregiving system respond to a child’s emotional attachment needs.

Priya’s fear of losing Declan had activated her emotional attachment system. The louder her alarm became, the harder it was to remain curious about Declan’s experience. Her anxiety naturally led to monitoring, questioning, and trying harder to pull him close. Predictably, the more urgently she reached for him, the further he retreated.

As Priya’s fear was met with the empathy of my caregiving system instead of solutions, her nervous system gradually settled. This is co-regulation. Helping Priya carry some of the weight of her fear increases her caregiving system’s capacity to focus back on Declan.

Adolescence creates a unique attachment dilemma. Teenagers need increasing independence while simultaneously needing the security of knowing their parents remain emotionally available. Acting out is often less about rebellion and more about struggling to manage overwhelming emotions, peer pressure, shame, or the longing to belong.

Inviting Priya to understand the possible purpose of her son’s behavior isn’t the same as excusing it. There may absolutely be a time for limits, consequences, and boundaries. But connection comes first. Inviting Priya to walk in Declan’s shoes and try to experience some of his stress is a way for her to get curious about what might be happening underneath the behaviors.

In my experience, kids often don’t know how to talk about their shame and insecurities. They often feel loved by their parents, but they don’t feel their parents understand their stress, and therefore will minimize its impact. I let Priya know that Declan sharing that his “midface ratio is too long” is a good sign of his trust in turning towards his mom with his hurt.

The prognosis is good for kids who can talk about their insecurities; I worry about the kids who can’t. If a kid can’t share their hurt and shame, then they won’t receive their parents’ co-regulating caregiving and have no choice but to endure the distress alone, which is the least effective way of managing the threat.

Seeing the Cycle

With Priya’s focus on curiously exploring Declan’s world rather than her own anxiety, the next step is to expand the frame and help her see the dance she and Declan are trapped in.

Me: Let me see if I can zoom out and put this all together. When Declan says, “I’m good,” your alarm immediately goes off. You worry he’s entering a world where you can’t protect him anymore. So, you move toward him—you ask questions, investigate, and try harder to understand.

Priya nods.

Me: But Declan experiences that as pressure, or as you not trusting him. So he pulls away. His distance makes your alarm even louder, so you reach even harder. Worry feeds retreat, and retreat feeds worry. It seems to me the problem isn’t either of you. It’s the cycle the two of you keep getting pulled into.

Priya: [smiling] I’ve never thought about it that way.

Me: Exactly. All of us get stuck in patterns of protection. You push because you care, and he retreats to feel safe. The most resilient families learn how to recognize these cycles and repair the distance they create. You’re already taking the first step.

Priya: Well, that’s good news.

To start changing the cycle, I encourage Priya to imagine reaching out to Declan differently. I pretended to be Declan and instead of leading with criticism, Priya tried to invite me into a new dialogue:

“I know lately you probably feel like I don’t understand your world. You’re probably right. Things are different from when I was your age. Trying to fit in isn’t easy, and when I see you struggling, I want to help by figuring things out. But I realize now how my worry turns into too many questions, which isn’t helpful. I want to do a better job listening. I trust you can figure this out. I just don’t want you to have to face it alone. So, I’m available if you want to talk.”

This conversation doesn’t guarantee Declan will immediately open up. But it does change the energy from an accusation to an invitation. Instead of leading with anxiety, Priya leads with caregiving.

Healthy caregiving finds the balance between love and limits. Starting with empathy doesn’t mean abandoning boundaries; it makes them more effective when they’re needed. And connection doesn’t eliminate correction; it creates the safety that allows correction to be heard and received.

The sequence matters: care and connect first, before you challenge and correct.

Over time, as Priya turns her attention to regulating her own anxiety rather than pressuring Declan to share his inner world, he’ll feel safer talking about the challenging moments all adolescents face. Although Priya can’t erase the natural distance that emerges between kids and parents during adolescence, she can let Declan know that when he needs her, she’ll be there.

Grounding in Attachment

by Eli Harwood

As a therapist specializing in attachment, I know that when a parent tells me their child is suddenly shutting them out, the first step to helping both the child and the parent is to address the disconnection happening between them. Until Priya reconnects with her son, it will be very difficult for her to help him with whatever struggles he is currently facing. Which is why my goal in this session is to help her process how her own attachment history is shaping the emotional intensity involved in her response to Declan’s situation. By supporting her distress response and helping her regulate, I can help her approach Declan with a more emotionally attuned and available presence.

Priya: What do you think? Am I overreacting?

I want Priya to know I see her concern for her son as caring—that I don’t see her feelings as irrational. Just like I want her to connect with Declan before trying to intervene with him, I want to connect with Priya before I try to guide her in any direction.

Me: Feeling scared and seeking support when your child is struggling and pulling away from you is literally the job of a caring parent! So no, I’m not putting this in the “overreaction” category. And yes, I’m a parent too, and I know the complex dance between not wanting to miss something serious and not wanting to overreact to something small that will pass on its own.

Next, I want to focus on helping Priya calm her nervous system. I can feel the worry she’s holding in her body, and I want to help her recognize she’s in an anxious state and practice changing that emotional state (a tenet of EMDR resourcing work).

Me: I’m going to help you get clear on what you know deep down is right to do with Declan, but first I want to help you understand and regulate the panic you are feeling, because it’s impossible to get a teen to open up when they sense our emotional overwhelm.

I’m helping Priya attune to her body instead of letting the panic make the plans.

Me: It’s so clear that you’ve worked very hard to create an open and trusting relationship with Declan. That you always show up for him when he needs you.

Priya: Yes, for sure. (She begins to tear up.) That’s something I didn’t get from my own parents, and I don’t really know if I’m doing it right.

Me: I love that you hold that value so deeply. Your heart is one hundred percent on the right track, wanting Declan to feel emotionally supported by you. At the same time, I’m sad for little Priya, who didn’t have a parent who knew how to give emotional support.

Priya: Thank you. It would’ve been nice to have. Not that I wasn’t loved. My parents did everything they knew how to do to support me.

Me: Those two things coexist in many families. You had the gift of being loved, but also the pain of feeling emotionally on your own.

I’ve given Priya permission to feel the tender pain of childhood emotional neglect without implying her parents were bad people. I can sense how important it is to her that I see them in a nuanced way.

Priya: Exactly.

Me: I also heard you loud and clear that you’ve noticed a significant shift in how open Declan has been with you recently. You can tell he’s struggling, and you can tell he’s hiding those struggles from you.

Priya: [Taking a deep breath and exhaling] I feel panicky when you say that. I don’t want that to be true, but yes, I do think that’s happening.

Me: It makes sense that you’d feel panic, especially as someone who knows what it’s like to be emotionally on your own as a kid. I wonder if Declan pulling away from you is kicking up some of those old feelings?

Priya: [looking pensive and twisting the tissue in her hands] I hadn’t thought about that before.

Because Priya has: 1) asked if I have kids, 2) shared her fear of being an overreactive parent (communicating shame), and 3) swiftly protected her parents after sharing that she felt emotionally neglected, I am going to use a bit of self-disclosure to normalize the process of navigating childhood parts while in a parenting role. Whenever I self-disclose, I make sure I’m sharing something that is emotionally resolved inside of me that can help my client neutralize feelings of shame or isolation. I’m trying to help normalize for Priya that part of being a parent is recognizing when our childhood baggage has entered the room.

Me: When I’m panicking about something related to my kids and I’m not sure if I’m reacting from my mom self or my childhood self, I ask myself the question: How old do I feel right now?

Priya: I don’t think I know how to do that.

Me: Think of a memory of being a mother where you felt confident and grounded.

Priya: Does birthing Declan count?

Me: For sure. Tell me about what that felt like.

Priya: Even though I felt scared and in pain, after I pushed him out, I had this mama bear energy and felt so powerful and capable, like I knew I was going to keep him safe no matter what.

Me: When you think about that memory, what do you notice in your body?

Priya: I’m not sure exactly how to describe it, but I feel strong, like I can handle hard things for my son.

Me: Beautiful. Now I want you to go back to a memory from childhood where you felt like you had to handle something hard alone, without your parents’ support.

Priya: [closing her eyes and thinking] Ahhh, I see. Yes, that’s a very different feeling.

Me: Can you describe it?

Priya: Hmm. I guess it feels wobbly. Like the ground isn’t solid, and I don’t know where to go.

Me: How old are you in the memory you brought up?

Priya: Twelve, maybe 13.

Me: Is this a specific memory about something happening to you, or are you in a specific place?

Priya: Both. I was at school, being bullied by some girls who called me “curly curry girl” and told me to go back to India. It was horrible, but I knew if I told my parents, they wouldn’t have known what to do. They brought me here to give me a new life. It would’ve broken their hearts if I told them that being here often felt like hell to me.

Me: It must have been so scary to go through that racism and harassment all by yourself. I’m so sorry that happened to you, and at such a tender age.

Priya apologizes as tears stream down her face and she reaches for another tissue.

Me: No need to apologize. All-you-can-eat tissues are included in the price of your therapy ticket.

We both laugh as Priya pretends to eat the tissue before using it to wipe her eyes.

I use humor to show Priya that I’m not burdened by her emotions and can contain them without being overwhelmed by them. I’m modeling the presence Declan needs—what developmental psychologist Mary Ainsworth called the safe haven and secure base.

Me: Also, in this room, your tears are considered an honor, not a burden.

Priya: Thank you. That’s the opposite of what I felt with my parents. I felt like it was my job to show them I was fine. I knew how stressed my parents were with all the shit they had to put up with as immigrants, and I never wanted to add to their burden.

Me: That’s so isolating for a teenager. No wonder you’re working so hard right now to make sure Declan doesn’t feel alone.

Priya: I’m so worried he does feel alone.

Me: I wonder if it’s possible Declan senses how worried you are about him feeling alone, but instead of seeing it as an invitation to open up, he is worrying about you and sees it as a signal to protect you from his mess, just like you did with your own parents?

Priya: Oh shit. Do you really think that’s happening?

Me: I don’t know for sure, but I do know that you’ve been very anxious about this, and that kids tend to hide stuff from us when they sense we are emotionally dysregulated. Or it could be because of all this manosphere nonsense on social media telling him to be “alpha.”

Priya: I’m not sure since he won’t tell me, but I think you’re right that my panic-stink has been keeping him at a distance.

Me: Panic-stink! I think we should trademark that!

We both laugh again, and there’s a palpable sense of relief in Priya’s presence.

Now that Priya has some clarity about her anxiety affecting her dynamic with Declan, I want to see if we can help her access a more grounded state through reparenting work, focusing on the memories she mentioned where no one was around to help her.

Me: I want to teach you a quick exercise that can help calm the younger part of you that surfaces when Declan pulls away. If you’re comfortable doing so, close your eyes or focus on a spot on the wall or carpet.

Priya folds her hands in her lap and closes her eyes.

Me: I want you to locate that girl who’s being harassed and try to find that feeling in your body. Let me know when you’ve found her, and the wobbly feeling you described.

After a moment, Priya responds.

Priya: Okay, I sense the wobbling.

Me: Where is this younger version of you, and where do you notice the panic in your body?

Priya: I’m alone in the school hallway. My chest is tight, and my throat is closed.

Me: Okay. Find an empty classroom and slip inside. (pause) Now, I want the grown-up you to walk in and sit down next to that girl. Wrap your arms around her and say, “I’ve got you, kid. I see what’s happening, and I don’t need you to hold back with me. You can let it out.” (pause) Then, have the grown-up version of you hold teen Priya as she cries for as long as she needs you to.

Priya takes a few shuddering breaths, and tears begin to fall down her cheeks. She’s clearly feeling a lot of emotion—and relief. A few minutes later, her breath steadies.

Priya: The younger me feels comforted. I feel so much lighter. Can I open my eyes?

Me: Yes. Do you feel like you got what you needed?

Priya: I didn’t need much; I just needed an adult to show up and care about what I was going through.

Me: That’s what every kid needs.

Priya: Yes. And I think I know what I need to do now. Declan is into this manosphere stuff, all mixed-up with middle school stress and being the only Indian kid in our neighborhood. So I’m going to take him to our favorite restaurant, and his dad and I will talk him through why looksmaxing is nonsense. We’ll explain how racism can make you feel like your body’s “wrong”—and how to resist that message.

Me: And if he doesn’t seem receptive and open up immediately?

Priya: If I don’t feel like I’m reaching him, I’ll give him some time to think. And if he still doesn’t open up, I’ll let him know we’re going to therapy to figure it out—together. I’m not leaving him to sort this out alone, but I’m not going to smother him with my panic, either. He needs me.

I smile. She’s got this. When we give parents space to process their own attachment histories, they’re able to care for younger parts of themselves so they can show up more fully for their own kids.