From Economics to the Therapy Room

Ryan Alexander didn’t begin his career expecting to become a therapist.

His first degree was in economics, followed by work in commodity sales and technology. Those fields may seem far removed from therapy, but Ryan sees an important connection between them and the clinician he eventually became.

Economics taught him to think in systems—to look for patterns and understand how one part of a system influences another. Today, that same way of thinking helps him understand people not in isolation, but within their families, relationships, communities, and larger social environments.

Eventually, though, something was missing.

Ryan wanted work that allowed him to have a more direct impact on people’s lives.

So, in his late twenties, he made a significant change: he left his career, entered graduate school, took a graduate assistantship, and immersed himself in becoming a therapist.

He describes that period as his “learning cave.”

And he took full advantage of it, completing more than 100 hours of additional professional education before he had even received his graduate degree.

A Career Built Around Supporting People

Looking backward, Ryan can see pieces of his future career in some unexpected places.

He stocked shelves at Forever 21, worked behind the meat and seafood counter at Acme, traded commodity lumber, and worked in technology.

One conversation from his time in commodity trading stayed with him.

A colleague told him that some people are driven to do, while others are drawn to support the people doing—and neither role is more valuable than the other.

Ryan knew which one sounded like him.

He wanted to help people become the strongest versions of themselves.

Once he entered the mental health field, Ryan spent years working with children and adolescents. That experience deepened his understanding of human development and eventually helped shape his interest in couples, families, relationships, and the systems surrounding each person.

Finding a Place Working With Men

Ryan didn’t enter the field intending to specialize in working with men.

That developed through the work itself.

He began noticing moments when male clients seemed to experience something they hadn’t experienced very often: having their emotional lives taken seriously.

Rather than seeing someone as simply angry, distant, difficult, or hurtful, Ryan became interested in what might be happening underneath.

Many of the men he encountered seemed to be working extraordinarily hard to hold everything together and become the person they believed everyone else needed them to be.

Ryan saw an opportunity to contribute something important.

His interest has since expanded into the exploration of masculine identity across genders and the ways people learn what emotions they are—or aren’t—allowed to express.

Ryan is particularly interested in people who feel as though the world has always been on their shoulders.

They care deeply about other people. They take responsibility. They keep going.

And they may have learned to treat caring for themselves as unnecessary, selfish, or even self-indulgent.

Ryan’s work isn’t about teaching those clients to care less.

It’s about helping them learn that caring for themselves can make it possible to continue being the person they want to be.

What Is Therapy With Ryan Like?

Ryan describes himself in the therapy room as focused, analytical, compassionate, and genuine.

And therapy with him is active.

Clients sometimes leave his sessions saying they feel as though they’ve had a workout.

That’s not because Ryan believes therapy should simply be difficult. It’s because he sees the therapy room as a place where people can practice responding differently to emotions that may previously have felt overwhelming.

One of his favorite metaphors is an old Western standoff.

The goal isn’t to make the difficult emotion disappear. It’s learning that you can stand there, experience what is happening inside you, and discover that you don’t have to react in the same way you always have.

Ryan isn’t particularly interested in presenting himself as the perfectly polished therapist, either.

There may be humor.

There may be cursing.

There may be messiness.

And there should absolutely be room to celebrate wins.

He wants clients to experience what he describes as a kind of secure power—the understanding that you don’t need to be better than someone else in order to know that you are good enough.

When You Don’t Know What to Talk About

You don’t need to arrive at Ryan’s office with an agenda.

If a client doesn’t know where to begin, Ryan may return to something they’ve discussed previously and get curious about what has happened since.

What did you notice?

What emotion showed up?

What did you do when it did?

Did that response help?

Ryan believes our reactions often make more sense when we understand what they’re trying to accomplish—particularly within our relationships.

That same curiosity shapes how he approaches clients who are skeptical about therapy or have had an experience with therapy that felt unproductive.

He isn’t interested in convincing someone that they should love therapy.

Instead, he starts by respecting the fact that showing up at all may have required a considerable amount of courage.

Therapy Isn’t About What’s “Wrong” With You

One thing Ryan wishes more people understood is that therapy doesn’t have to be an investigation into what’s wrong with you.

He sees it very differently.

Therapy can help people understand their strengths, recognize the places where they’re struggling, and become curious about why their minds and bodies respond the way they do.

An emotional response may seem irrational from the outside.

Ryan is interested in discovering the logic underneath it.

What is this emotion trying to communicate?

What has this response done for you before?

And does it still serve you now?

That distinction is especially important in Ryan’s work with anger.

Anger itself isn’t necessarily the problem.

Often, Ryan sees anger as carrying a message: Something matters. Something hurts. Something needs to be heard.

The difficulty comes when anger is pushed away, misunderstood, or expressed in ways that make connection even harder.

Therapy creates room to slow that process down and understand what’s happening underneath.

Why the Therapeutic Relationship Matters

For Ryan, a strong therapeutic relationship isn’t one in which the therapist never gets anything wrong.

It’s one in which there is enough safety to address what happens when they do.

He places a high value on repair and humility.

If something a therapist says lands badly, Ryan believes the client should be able to say so—and the therapist needs to be willing to listen, understand the impact, and take responsibility when appropriate.

That ability to navigate a rupture rather than avoid it can itself become part of the work.

Relationships don’t become safe because they’re perfect.

They become safer when people learn that difficulties can be acknowledged and repaired.

Looking at the Bigger Picture

Ryan’s curiosity extends well beyond psychology.

He’s interested in space, philosophy, historical anthropology, and the ways humans make sense of themselves and one another.

Those interests frequently find their way into therapy through metaphors.

One of his favorites begins:

“In the cosmic scope of things…”

The idea isn’t that someone’s problems don’t matter.

It’s perspective.

Human brains can make the problem directly in front of us feel enormous and permanent. Sometimes zooming outward—even conceptually—helps us remember that our lives contain more than the moment we’re currently struggling through.

Ryan’s background in economics, interest in systems, and tendency to connect seemingly unrelated ideas all influence how he approaches therapy.

He isn’t simply asking, What’s the problem?

He’s interested in the patterns surrounding it.

Putting Your Own Oxygen Mask On First

Ryan especially enjoys working with couples, families, men, and people exploring masculine identity. His clinical interests include ADHD, relationship concerns, anxiety, depression, OCD and phobias, and trauma-related concerns.

But perhaps the person most likely to recognize themselves in Ryan’s approach isn’t defined by a diagnosis.

It’s the person who has spent a very long time being strong for everyone else.

The person who cares deeply.

The person accustomed to carrying the weight.

The person who may even wonder whether taking time for therapy is self-indulgent.

Ryan doesn’t want that person to become less caring.

He wants them to discover that they deserve some of the care they’ve spent so much time giving everyone else.

Because ultimately, Ryan hopes clients leave therapy with something deeper than symptom improvement:

The understanding that their value doesn’t depend upon how someone else responds to them.

They are already enough.