8 behaviors that distance a man from his value
8 behaviors that distance a man from his value
What does it really mean to become a man of value? What can online therapy do? What does it mean, today, to truly be a man of value?
In a social context in constant transformation, where traditional roles have been called into question but new definitions still struggle to take hold, many men find themselves lost. They grow up with conflicting ideals: on the one hand strength, success, control; on the other the demand for empathy, listening, and authenticity. But no one really teaches how to integrate all of this into everyday life.
Male identity often forms on fragile foundations: inconsistent family models, emotional absences, unspoken phrases, and ignored needs. And yet, a man is not born “of value”: he becomes one. He becomes one every time he chooses truth about himself, every time he questions himself with courage. But to do this, it is necessary to recognize the behaviors that, day after day, distance him from his most authentic potential.
This is not about judging oneself, but about truly seeing oneself. Many dysfunctional attitudes are not the result of bad will, but of strategies learned since childhood. Inner habits built to protect oneself in environments where emotionality was seen as weakness, where sincerity was not welcomed and vulnerability was ignored. In these contexts, one learns to survive, not to live fully.
Psychotherapist John Bradshaw, an expert in family dynamics, states that we often carry into adulthood the invisible wounds of childhood: those that cannot be seen but condition everything — relationships, self-esteem, choices. (Bradshaw, J., 1999).
It is from this awareness that the possibility of change is born.
In this article we will analyze eight common behaviors that, if neglected, can distance even the most intelligent, sensitive, or ambitious man from his authenticity. Not to judge, but to offer an honest mirror and — perhaps — the possibility of a turning point.
Because being a man of value is never a question of perfection.
It is a decision one makes. Every day.
Responsibility on the run: the weight a man does not want to carry
Among the most subtle and underestimated behaviors that undermine the construction of male personal value, the avoidance of responsibilities occupies a central place. It is an attitude that does not always manifest itself in an obvious way, but acts like a silent corrosion on character. Taking responsibility means recognizing that one has an active role in one’s own life, in one’s own choices, in the consequences of one’s own actions. When a man withdraws from this role, he often does so through behaviors masked as rationality: “It’s not the right time,” “It wasn’t my job,” “It’s not my fault if it went that way.”
In reality, behind this apparent disengagement, there is much more: a complex psychological dynamic that has its roots in individual history. Often these are men who grew up in family environments where it was not possible to develop a healthy sense of autonomy and responsibility. In some families, the father figure may have been distant or unpredictable: physically present but emotionally absent, or hypercritical and authoritarian, to the point of suffocating personal initiative. In other cases, the child experienced situations in which every mistake was punished with harshness or humiliation, generating in him the unconscious equation “if I take responsibility, I will be hurt or rejected.”
This type of experience, if it is not reworked in adulthood, turns into a defense mechanism. The man prefers to remain in a position of passivity or delegation, not because he is lazy or uninterested, but because in his inner world responsibility is associated with pain, failure, or loneliness. And it is precisely here that an invisible but deep fracture occurs between what the man would like to be — a solid, present, reliable figure — and what he is actually able to put into practice.
The Danish therapist Jesper Juul, in his work on parenting and adult identity, emphasizes how responsibility is not taught through impositions or reproaches, but through daily example and transmitted trust:
“A child learns responsibility not when it is demanded of him in words, but when he can see adults exercise it with respect toward themselves and toward others.”
(Juul, J., 2009. The competent child.)
When this model is missing, the adult will tend to develop two prevailing strategies: either he will try to avoid every form of responsibility, living in an eternal state of emotional, work, or relational dependence; or he will try to control every detail, for fear that any mistake will again be blamed on him. Both of these modes are symptoms of an identity not fully developed, built on defensiveness rather than on trust.
Avoiding responsibilities, therefore, is not only a matter of missed actions: it is an existential mode that speaks of insecurity, of a fragile inner dialogue, of a perception of self that is still immature. And if it is not recognized, it risks becoming an invisible prison: the more responsibilities are avoided, the more the idea of not being able to face them is strengthened. The result is a man who lives on the margins of his own life, a spectator of his own decisions, waiting for others to pull the strings.
Recovering the sense of responsibility means, instead, taking a step toward one’s own freedom. It means recognizing that every action — or inaction — has an effect, and that choosing to be there, even when it is difficult, is the first concrete gesture toward the construction of oneself.
The man adrift: when life is without direction
One of the most common but often overlooked signals that indicate a distancing from one’s own value is the absence of clear goals. This is not simply about not having a full agenda or a brilliant career, but about something much deeper: the lack of an inner vision, a personal horizon toward which to orient choices, energies, and sacrifices. A man without goals is not necessarily motionless, but he wanders. He moves, but without knowing where he is going. He wakes up every morning and responds to external stimuli — bills to pay, family demands, work commitments — but he does so like someone rowing in the middle of the sea without a compass or a map. He lives, but it is as if he were not really choosing his life.
This existential state does not arise suddenly. It is the fruit of an inner history where positive references, constructive stimuli, and above all models capable of transmitting the value of self-determination were often missing. Many men grow up in environments where the idea of “ambition” is either ridiculed (“You’re not some superhero”) or crushed by a sense of duty (“Think about working, and that’s it”). Others live in families where every attempt to dream is cut down by phrases like “keep your feet on the ground” or “in life you do what you can.” The result? An identity that struggles to develop an autonomous project, because it has never learned to consider itself worthy of dreaming, choosing, creating.
The lack of goals is often an invisible symptom of a deeper wound: the loss of a sense of possibility. When a man no longer believes that his desire matters, he stops asking important questions. And he adapts. He conforms. He accepts jobs, relationships, and situations not because they nourish him, but because “that’s how things are.” This attitude, if prolonged, generates a dull and chronic malaise: a form of anesthesia of the soul. The emptiness of purpose turns into apathy, cynicism, sometimes passive anger. And that emptiness, slowly, extinguishes every enthusiasm, reducing existence to mechanical survival.
The philosopher and psychotherapist Viktor Frankl, a survivor of the concentration camps, strongly maintained that man has an existential need to give meaning to his life. Without a direction, even suffering loses meaning and becomes intolerable. He writes:
“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”
(Frankl, V. E. – Man’s Search for Meaning, 1946)
This quotation is not only a philosophical reflection, but a practical invitation. The goal in life does not necessarily have to be extraordinary, but it must be felt as authentic. It can be building a family, writing a book, improving oneself every day, contributing to the well-being of those around us. But it must be there. It must be present as a polar star, even in moments of chaos.
A man without goals is not a free man, he is a suspended man. And this suspension, if not faced, becomes paralysis. But the good news is that it is never too late to choose a direction. Even those who have been lost for years can, with patience and sincerity, begin to trace a path. It takes time, of course. It takes the courage to listen to oneself and to admit that something is missing. But that very act of awareness is the first step toward change.
Because a man of value is not the one who has always known where to go. He is the one who, even when he has gotten lost, decided to look for himself.
The cold inside: when the man no longer feels
Among the most revealing signs of the loss of connection with one’s own human value is the inability to resonate with others: the absence of empathy and sensitivity. A man who cannot — or does not want to — understand the emotional world of those around him is not simply detached. He is disconnected from himself. Empathy, in fact, is not only the ability to “put oneself in others’ shoes”; it is a silent bridge that is created when one is willing to feel, not only to react. It is a deep emotional ability, born from familiarity with one’s own pain, one’s own emotions, one’s own limits. This is why those who mock someone who opens up, who show themselves emotionally rigid or even contemptuous, are often not strong… but blocked.
Many men grow up with an implicit (or explicit) message that says: emotions are a problem. Expressions like “don’t be a little girl,” “men don’t cry,” or “don’t let them see you weak” act like real inner programs, passed down for generations. One learns in this way to separate one’s male identity from the emotional world. One becomes efficient, controlled, rational… but emotionally inaccessible. And this armor, initially protective, ends up becoming a relational prison. A man who does not recognize the emotional signals of the people close to him — discomfort, sadness, the need to be listened to — not only hurts others, but feeds his own loneliness. Because without empathy, there is no intimacy. And without intimacy, relationships empty out.
Empathy does not develop in environments where feeling has been ignored. Those who as children lived situations in which emotions were repressed or ridiculed often become adults without tools to read their own affective world and that of others. In many cases, coldness is not a conscious choice, but an automatic response learned to survive a context in which feeling was risky. A man who today seems distant, cold, or contemptuous in front of others’ pain was probably once a child left alone with his own. Psychotherapist Carl Rogers, one of the fathers of the person-centered approach, strongly emphasized the importance of empathy as the foundation of every authentic relationship:
“To be empathic is to perceive the internal frame of reference of another with accuracy and with the emotional components and meanings which pertain thereto as if one were the person, but without ever losing the ‘as if’ condition.”
(Rogers, C., 1961. On Becoming a Person)
This statement reminds us that empathy is not fusion, but openness: the willingness to approach the other without invading them. It is the ability to see another’s vulnerability without judgment. But to do that, one must have made peace with one’s own.
When a man ridicules someone who shows emotions — whether a partner, a child, or a friend — he not only creates distance, but perpetuates a toxic model of masculinity. A model that equates feeling with weakness and closure with self-control. But in reality, true strength lies in the ability to remain present even when the other suffers, not to flee in front of pain, not to be afraid of fragility.
Recovering empathy and sensitivity does not mean becoming fragile or giving up one’s solidity. It means, rather, integrating the heart with the mind, humanity with efficiency. It is work that requires courage, because it leads one to revisit one’s past, to contact wounds believed to be overcome, to recognize that for too long one chose not to feel in order not to suffer. But it is also the first step to building true, healthy, deep relationships.
A man of value is not the one who does not get emotional, but the one who is not afraid to.
The shadow on you: when negativity becomes a lifestyle
There are people who, even under the sun, see only clouds. Chronic negativity is not only a mental habit: it is a distorted filter through which one interprets the world, oneself, and others. When a man is trapped in this spiral of thought, every situation is read in a pessimistic key, every possibility is already an announced failure, every conversation becomes an opportunity to complain or to judge what is wrong. But the most insidious thing about this attitude is that it is often not perceived as dysfunctional. Those who live immersed in continual negativity do not realize how much it influences what they say, the energy they transmit, and how they are perceived by others.
Constant complaining is not a simple venting. It is a toxic form of communication that drains energy, blocks solutions, closes possibilities. A man who complains continuously — about work, people, society, his own life — not only condemns himself to a state of perpetual dissatisfaction, but also becomes a burden for those who are close to him. His words do not inspire, do not build, do not open. They contaminate. They create an emotional climate that is gray, sometimes unbreathable, in which others also feel demotivated or tired without really knowing why.
This attitude, however, does not come from nothing. Behind constant negativity there is often an ancient disappointment: an unprocessed wound, a past made of frustrations, perhaps a series of experiences in which every hope was disillusioned. When this pattern takes root, the man begins to protect himself through disillusionment: he stops expecting the best in order to avoid suffering again. It is a form of emotional self-defense, which ends up becoming a sentence. The mind, in order not to run the risk of new wounds, gets used to seeing only the worst. And it makes it a rule.
Cognitive psychology has widely studied this phenomenon. One of the key concepts is negativity bias: the tendency of the human mind to give greater weight to negative stimuli than to positive ones. As Daniel Kahneman, Nobel Prize winner and pioneer in studies of human judgment, writes:
“Losses loom larger than gains.”
(Kahneman, D., 2011. Thinking, Fast and Slow)
But when this mechanism becomes predominant, a real permanent negative filter is created. The man is no longer able to see potential, only danger. He does not recognize beauty, only problems. He does not enjoy successes, he minimizes them or waits for them with anxiety, fearing that they will soon vanish.
Constant negativity, therefore, is not only a personality flaw. It is an inner habit that can be disarmed only with awareness. It takes the courage to ask oneself: “What am I protecting with all this pessimism?”, “What am I afraid to hope for again?” Beginning to break this pattern means recognizing that not all evil comes to harm, and that reality — however difficult — is not only black or white.
A man of value is not the one who always has everything under control, but the one who knows how to choose which lens to use to look at life. Even in difficulties, even in pain. Because hope, if trained, becomes strength. And positive vision, if practiced honestly, can become a form of inner revolution.
Words in the wind: when listening is only waiting for one’s turn
Among the most destructive behaviors within relationships — personal, affective, or professional — there is the inability to truly listen. Listening does not mean simply hearing what the other says: it is an act of presence, a deep willingness to welcome the emotional, cognitive, and relational world of the other. And yet, many men, even though they speak fluently, have never learned to communicate in the authentic sense of the term. Communication, in fact, is not made only of words, but of pauses, respectful silences, genuine attention. Whoever listens only to respond — or worse, to counter — is not listening: he is waiting for his turn.
The tendency to interrupt, overpower, always bring the conversation back to oneself is often the result of poor education in emotional intelligence. Since childhood, many boys are rewarded for “asserting themselves,” for “having the ready answer,” for “not falling behind,” but they are rarely taught how much value there is in knowing how to stay silent, in giving space to the other, in holding back the impulse to dominate the conversation. Growing up, this attitude consolidates and becomes a communicative style that confuses assertiveness with overbearingness. It is not only a matter of rudeness or inattention: often behind the inability to listen there is a deep relational fragility, a difficulty in tolerating the other’s difference without feeling threatened.
Those who interrupt or ignore what is being said in depth are often someone who, in turn, has not been listened to. They have not received empathic listening in important moments of their life, and therefore they have not internalized that model. Moreover, truly listening requires vulnerability: it means opening oneself to the idea that the other might have something to teach, to correct, to show. For many men, this is unconsciously threatening terrain, especially if they grew up with a rigid idea of leadership and control.
The philosopher and psychologist Stephen Covey states that:
“Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.”
(Covey, S., 1989. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People)
This sentence captures with surgical precision the root of the problem: in superficial communication, the other becomes an obstacle to overcome, not a reality to meet. And so, relationships empty out. Those who do not feel listened to close off, defend themselves, move away. Over time, the environment around those who cannot listen becomes impoverished: dialogues become crossed monologues, connections break, trust evaporates.
Listening is an act of courage and generosity. It requires putting aside one’s ego, one’s need to be right, the urge to jump in. It requires patience, presence, willingness to doubt. A man of value is not the one who talks the most, but the one who knows how to be silent at the right moment. Not out of submission, but out of respect. Because whoever listens deeply communicates something powerful: “you are important to me.”
Recovering the ability to listen is a revolutionary act. It means learning to truly be with the other, without haste, without judgment, without masks. It is one of the most precious skills for building healthy, lasting, authentic relationships. But above all, it is a tool to reconnect with one’s own humanity, because only by listening to others do we learn to listen to ourselves too.
The invisible wall: when a man cannot say what he feels
One of the deepest obstacles in building healthy relationships and in full personal realization is the inability to express what one feels. For many men, opening up emotionally is not only difficult: it is unthinkable. There is a rooted, often unconscious resistance that prevents them from verbalizing fears, pain, joys, and desires. Emotional life thus remains confined inside, locked behind a silent wall, where feelings accumulate like stagnant water. The man may appear cold, detached, unshakable — but in reality he is often just afraid. His closure is not hardness, but defense.
This behavior does not come from a biological lack, but from a long relational history. Many men grew up in environments where emotions were not welcomed but avoided, ignored, or ridiculed. In some families, crying was a sign of weakness, anger was punished, sadness was never named. The child learns early that showing what he feels is not safe. He therefore begins to wear a mask, that of the “strong,” the “controlled,” the one who feels nothing so as not to risk rejection or humiliation. And that mask, over time, becomes part of identity.
But what happens to a man who does not know or cannot express his emotional world? He begins to live disconnected from himself. Repressed emotions do not disappear: they turn into tension, chronic irritability, relational closure, deep loneliness. Words are missing, relationships become superficial, and a sense of estrangement is generated, even within important bonds. The man feels that something is wrong, but he does not know how to say it — or he does not even know what he feels.
This difficulty affects every level of existence. On a personal level, it leads to inner confusion, to a disconnection that can turn into anxiety, depression, or addictions. On a relational level, it compromises the ability to create intimacy, trust, and authentic dialogue. When a partner, a child, or a friend perceives that the man is impenetrable, that he never truly opens up, they begin to feel alone, even in his presence.
According to the famous scholar of emotions Daniel Goleman, emotional intelligence — that is, the ability to recognize, understand, and manage one’s own emotions and those of others — is more decisive for personal and relational success than IQ. He states:
“People with high emotional intelligence are more likely to be self-aware, have healthy relationships, and handle stress effectively.”
(Goleman, D., 1995. Emotional Intelligence)
However, to develop this emotional intelligence, it is necessary to stop being afraid of emotions. Fear of judgment, shame for what one feels, fear of appearing weak: these are all invisible enemies that prevent living authentically. But it is precisely by facing them that one conquers true strength. Because there is nothing more powerful than a man who has the courage to be vulnerable.
Expressing what one feels does not mean getting lost in sentimentalism. It means, on the contrary, reclaiming one’s inner world. Giving voice to what moves inside oneself, even if uncomfortable, even if uncertain. It is only in this way that deep connections are built, emotional isolation is overcome, and one becomes truly present in one’s own life.
A man of value is not the one who feels nothing, but the one who knows how to stay inside what he feels. Without shame. Without fear. With dignity.
Broken truth: dishonesty as a form of defense and destruction
Dishonesty, especially the kind that creeps into everyday life in a subtle and apparently harmless way, is one of the most corrosive behaviors for a man’s personal and relational value. Lying, manipulating, distorting even small details can seem like an intelligent strategy, a social shortcut, or a form of defense to avoid conflict. But over time, every inauthentic word builds a wall between oneself and others, and above all, between oneself and one’s own integrity.
Dishonesty does not manifest only in big lies or blatant betrayals. It also exists in half-truths, in strategic silences, in ambiguous gestures. A man who lies about who he is, about what he feels, about what he does or does not do, even in small things, is sending a dangerous message to the world and to himself: “I am not enough, as I am.” This is why dishonesty is not only an ethical problem, but a deep sign of insecurity, fear, and sometimes an identity construction based on survival rather than truth.
Many men learn to lie not out of malice, but out of learned necessity. In family environments where sincerity was punished or where expressing one’s feelings led to rejection, lying became a way to protect oneself. It begins with small adjustments of reality to please, to avoid arguments, not to disappoint. Then, over time, lying becomes a habit. One lies to avoid judgment, to control the perception others have of oneself, to obtain approval or momentary advantages. But every lie — even the smallest — creates cracks in trust. And trust, once compromised, is difficult to rebuild.
Those who manipulate, who hide, who live in a gray zone where nothing is ever completely true or completely false, undermine the quality of their relationships. Others may not immediately catch the falsehood… but they perceive its effect. Ambiguity generates tension, insecurity, distrust. That invisible but essential base that makes any human bond stable and nourishing is broken: transparency. As Brené Brown, a scholar of vulnerability and authenticity, states:
“When transparency is absent, relationships turn into power games, and true connection becomes impossible.”
(Brown, B., 2012. Daring Greatly)
The man who uses dishonesty as a relational tool ends up living in constant defensiveness. He must remember what he said, to whom, with what intention. Spontaneity disappears, leaving room for strategy. And when one lives like this, one is never really connected to others, because one is always in a form of performance. In the long run, this relational style also wears down one’s identity: one feels fragmented, confused, false.
Being sincere requires courage. Especially when the truth is uncomfortable, when it can disappoint or bring vulnerability to the surface. But it is precisely in that courage that respect is built. Because truth, even when it hurts, creates spaces for growth and trust. Falsehood, on the other hand, even if painless in the immediate, produces distance and disintegration.
A man of value is not the one who never makes mistakes, but the one who has chosen truth as a way of life. Even when it costs. Even when his legs shake. Because he knows that without honesty, there is no stable root on which to build anything solid — neither relationships, nor future, nor himself.
The illusion of arrival: when a man stops evolving
Among all the behaviors that prevent a man from living with authenticity and fullness, the refusal of personal improvement is perhaps the most subtle and dangerous. It manifests itself silently, not through big gestures, but in small recurring thoughts: “I’m made like this,” “I don’t need to change,” “By now it’s too late.” It is a form of stagnation disguised as security, an inner armor that protects from restlessness but blocks every form of real growth. The man who believes he has already arrived, in reality, stops looking for himself.
This attitude often comes from a false perception of the self: that of having reached an equilibrium, of having nothing more to discover or improve. But the truth is that no human being is ever “complete.” Personal growth is not an event to check off, but a continuous process that lasts one’s whole life. When a man closes himself to this movement, he condemns himself to living a reduced version of himself. His relationships stiffen, his mind closes to new perspectives, his habits become cages.
Behind this resistance to change there are often fear, mistrust, and old wounds. Personal improvement implies, in fact, a direct confrontation with one’s limits, one’s inconsistencies, one’s shadows. And not everyone is willing to truly look at themselves. For some men, especially those raised in contexts where vulnerability and introspection were considered signs of weakness, changing equals questioning one’s identity. Better to remain as one is, even if unhappy, than to face the unknown. This immobility becomes a form of self-defense, but at the price of an existence lived halfway.
The refusal to invest in oneself can also derive from unconscious beliefs such as: “I don’t deserve to be better,” “It’s useless to try,” or “It wouldn’t change anything anyway.” These thoughts, sedimented over time, erode every desire to evolve. The man who is their victim does not read, does not train, does not seek confrontation, does not question himself. He lives in a comfort zone that, over time, becomes a zone of decline.
The American philosopher Abraham Maslow, known for his theory of the hierarchy of needs, stated:
“What a man can be, he must be. This need we may call self-actualization.”
(Maslow, A., 1954. Motivation and Personality)
In other words, growing is not an option for those who want to live fully, but a fundamental requirement of the human being. Choosing not to improve oneself, therefore, is not an innocent neutrality: it is a silent renunciation of one’s potential. There is nothing noble in passively accepting one’s limits, if behind that acceptance there is fear of changing.
The man who resists personal growth often ends up alone, frustrated, repetitive in his patterns. And yet, the first step toward transformation does not require revolutions. One gesture is enough: reading a different book, listening to someone who thinks in the opposite way, asking a question one had never had the courage to ask. Growing does not mean becoming someone else, but becoming more oneself. It is an act of responsibility toward one’s own life.
A man of value is not the one who has already achieved everything, but the one who never stops looking for who he can still become.
What can online therapy do?
In the path of male personal growth, it is often underestimated how decisive it is to have a protected space where one can explore one’s emotions, one’s difficulties and — above all — one’s potential. Online therapy, in this sense, is proving to be a precious, accessible, and deeply transformative tool. More and more men turn to psychological support not because “something is wrong,” but because they feel they can be more. More present, more authentic, freer from the conditioning that shaped and limited them for years.
Many men have been raised with the idea that strength lies in silence, in control, in emotional resistance. And yet, what makes a man truly of value is the exact opposite: awareness, empathy, the ability to question oneself. Online therapy creates a space in which all this can emerge gradually and safely. The simple act of stopping, taking an hour a week to listen to oneself and be listened to by a professional, opens inner passages often never explored before.
One of the main advantages of online therapy is its accessibility. It allows men, even those who live in isolated contexts or with complex schedules, to have constant contact with a therapist, without having to overcome logistical or social barriers. This considerably lowers the initial threshold of resistance. It is not rare, in fact, that men are more reluctant to ask for help out of fear of judgment, due to low familiarity with emotional language, or because no one ever taught them before. The online mode makes the first step less frightening, more manageable, and often more effective precisely because it is inserted into one’s own daily environment.
Through a well-guided psychological path, the man learns to recognize and value qualities that perhaps he has always had, but has never fully cultivated: a sense of responsibility, deep listening, honest communication, the ability to manage emotions without repressing them or being overwhelmed by them. A therapist can accompany him in disarming self-sabotaging mechanisms, understanding the roots of his insecurities, and building new inner habits that are healthier and more powerful.
As Carl Rogers, pioneer of the person-centered approach, emphasizes:
“When a person feels deeply heard and accepted, he can begin to develop meaningful change. Not because he is told what to do, but because he can finally meet himself.”
(Rogers, C., 1961. On Becoming a Person)
Online therapy does not offer prepackaged solutions, but guidance. It does not impose models, but awakens conscience. It is a path in which the man is not judged, but helped to look at himself with new eyes, to reclaim the right to evolve and to feel fully himself. And precisely through this reconnection with his inner world, he can finally begin to manifest in everyday life the qualities that define a man of value: authenticity, coherence, openness, the ability to love and to be loved.
Becoming a better man is not a matter of forced will, but of cultivated awareness. And online therapy is today one of the most effective tools to do exactly this: to create a space in which personal growth is not an abstract ideal, but a concrete, human, and possible process.
“Being perfect is not necessary to be men of value. Only the courage to look inside and choose to change is needed.”
Bibliographic References:
- Bradshaw, J. (1999). Figli di genitori immaturi. Firenze: Giunti.
- Brown, B. (2012). Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. New York: Gotham Books.
- Covey, S. R. (1989). The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful Lessons in Personal Change. New York: Free Press.
- Frankl, V. E. (1946). Man’s Search for Meaning. Boston: Beacon Press.
- Goleman, D. (1995). Emotional Intelligence: Why It Can Matter More Than IQ. New York: Bantam Books.
- Juul, J. (2009). Il bambino è competente: L’arte di relazionarsi con i bambini. Milano: Feltrinelli.
- Kahneman, D. (2011). Thinking, Fast and Slow. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
- Maslow, A. H. (1954). Motivation and Personality. New York: Harper & Row.
- Rogers, C. R. (1961). On Becoming a Person: A Therapist’s View of Psychotherapy. Boston: Houghton Mifflin.
For information write to Dr. Jessica Zecchini. Email contact: consulenza@jessicazecchini.it, WhatsApp contact: +39 370 32 17 351.
