The great disappointment for those of us who were fans of Louis C.K.’s work is how strongly his behavior cuts against our original sense of him. This was a man who seemed able to connect deeply and authentically with his own messy experiences, and in doing so he invited us to embrace our own messy realities. Was it all an act? Some might answer yes — that we now know who the real Louis C.K. is.

But I am holding out hope for something better from him. As a psychotherapist, I often see men and women at their worst, so I know that a person who harms himself or who has harmed someone else is not defined only by that behavior. That truth is demonstrated by his presence in my office. I get to witness the drive for healing and repair alongside a patient’s suffering.

Many of my clients are men who have hurt women. Cheating or assaultive husbands, bullies, abusive co-workers, these men often come to therapy first to make sense of the hurt they have caused other people — hurt that is often a consequence of wounds they themselves carry. Yet they often make every effort to steer the topic to anything else. Even when we discuss it, they protect themselves by minimizing (“it was just one time and I was drunk”), obscuring (“back when all of that drama happened”) and placing the blame elsewhere (“everyone is out to get me”). They’re afraid to fully face their wrongdoing — not just the repercussions, but also the deep shame they would feel in acknowledging the truth.

I struggle with how to work with men like this. In spite of their actions, I often find them likable. Paradoxically, I would not be able to work with them if I didn’t like and care about them. It is always tempting to give in to that impulse, to absolve them of their guilt, to reassure them that they are still good men in spite of what they have done. But that would be morally unconscionable — and more important, it would not bring them healing.

Real healing emerges only when I accompany them to whatever dark place it is that they have worked so hard to avoid. There is always a moment where this comes to the forefront, where a patient’s casual-seeming phrase becomes an opportunity to explore his avoidance of painful realities. “Do you notice,” I might say, “how you keep focusing on how angry your wife is with you? Could we take some time to sit with how you feel toward yourself?” Or: “What if instead of ‘I only lash out when I’m drunk’ you say it again, but this time as ‘I lashed out at my wife last night’?”