When taking a flight, the flight attendant always begins with the safety briefing. Inevitably, they arrive at the part about the oxygen masks. “If there should be a change in cabin pressure…put your oxygen mask on first before helping others.”

Most of us have heard this used as a metaphor for self‑care, and for good reason. Many of us are trying to care for the world around us while running on empty. We’re handing out oxygen masks with no oxygen of our own. We’re pushing through, showing up, and giving more than we have—until something inside us quietly frays.

The truth is, emotional depletion doesn’t usually announce itself with sirens. It creeps in. It shows up as irritability, numbness, forgetfulness, or that vague sense that everything feels heavier than it should. And because we’re so used to functioning under pressure, we often don’t recognize the signs until we’re already scraping the bottom of our depleted energy tank.

The H.A.L.T. Check-In

There’s a simple tool used in recovery communities that applies beautifully to everyday life: H.A.L.T. It stands for:

• Hungry

• Angry

• Lonely

• Tired

These four states are some of the most common triggers for emotional overwhelm and reactive behavior. When we’re in one—or several—of these states and running on empty, we’re far more likely to fall into negative patterns without realizing it.

The bigger problem is when H.A.L.T. becomes our baseline. When hunger feels normal. When anger simmers quietly under the surface. When loneliness becomes familiar. When exhaustion is simply “how life is now.” At that point, we’re not just depleted — we’re disconnected from our own needs.

H.A.L.T. is an invitation to pause and ask: What’s really going on with me right now? Which of these needs have I been ignoring?

It’s astonishing how often the answer can be all four.

Why Running on Empty Leads to Unhealthy Coping

When we’re depleted, our brains go into survival mode. We stop reaching for what’s healthy and start reaching for what’s fast. That might look like:

• Mindless scrolling

• Overeating or skipping meals

• Snapping at people we care about

• Overworking to avoid feelings

• Shopping for a quick dopamine hit

• Withdrawing from others

• Numbing out with substances or distractions

These aren’t moral failings. They’re signals. They’re the emotional equivalent of the “check engine” light (the one so many of us ignore) blinking on the dashboard. But instead of pulling over, we often press harder on the gas or dig deeper into coping strategies.

These unhealthy coping mechanisms are rarely about the behavior itself—they’re about the need underneath it. H.A.L.T. helps us identify that need before we spiral into patterns that leave us feeling worse.

Refilling the Tank Isn’t Selfish—It’s Strategic

Putting on your oxygen mask first isn’t an act of selfishness. It’s an act of sustainability. You can pour from an empty cup, but not as effectively as you’d like to. Rest, nourishment, connection, and emotional regulation aren’t luxuries. They’re maintenance. They allow us to pour into others because we’ve pored into ourselves. They allow us to do so with less resentment, exhaustion, or complaining.

Refilling your tank might look like:

• Eating a real meal sitting down and not doing anything else

• Taking a 10‑minute walk to reset your nervous system

• Calling a friend and admitting you’re struggling

• Saying no to something you genuinely don’t have capacity for

• Going to bed earlier instead of pushing through

• Allowing yourself to feel instead of numbing out

Small acts of care compound. They rebuild your reserves. They help you show up as the version of yourself you actually want to be.

You Deserve More Than Survival Mode

If you’ve been running on empty, you’re not alone. Most people don’t realize how depleted they are until they stop moving long enough to feel it. But you don’t have to wait for a crash landing before taking care of yourself.

Pause. Check in with H.A.L.T. Name what you need. Give yourself permission to slow down long enough to receive it.

You deserve oxygen too.

You’ve been carrying something that was never meant to be permanent. Maybe it’s time to put it down.

There’s a shadow that follows many of us into the room — into men’s spaces, into prayer, into the quiet moments before sleep. It’s the burden of the man you think you’re supposed to be, and the ghost of the man you used to be.

Sound familiar? If you’re still reading this, I imagine does.

For many of us, life has quietly become a relentless campaign of proof. Proving we’re strong enough.
Successful enough.
Spiritual enough.
That we’re finally “over it.”

We’ve turned our own history into an enemy — something to conquer — when it was really always meant to be something to learn from. There’s a different way to walk, and it starts with a terrifying idea: fortification through self-acceptance.

The Burden You Weren’t Meant To Carry Forever

Here’s what nobody tells us growing up: every man carries a weight, worrying to some degree if he’s inadequate. If he measures up. If he’s got what it takes. We get so busy defending our worth — to the world, to old wounds, and the ghost of our fathers, that we lose sight of who we actually are. We become defined by the struggle itself.

“If I just work harder. Hide my scars better. Win one more battle against my past!”
If only…
If only…
If only…
We tell ourselves that peace is somewhere on the other side of the war. But peace isn’t the finish line of a war. It’s the decision to stop fighting it.

Try sitting with this question for a moment:
Who are you when you aren’t trying to prove anything?

It can be a scary question. But if you stay with it long enough, you might find something underneath the armor. A calm. One that’s not empty or weak, but full and powerful. That’s where the man of integrity breathes. That’s where you breathe.

Making Peace With The Man You Used To Be

Let’s be honest about something: the goal of growth isn’t to “win” against who you were.

That man, the one who was hurt, the one who made mistakes (even BIG ones), the one carrying the weight of things he didn’t choose, he did the best he could with the tools he had. You did the best you could. Even when you didn’t, you did. Trying to defeat that version of yourself only keeps you locked in a cycle of self-rejection.

Real growth and healing, asks something harder than combat. It asks you to sculpt a new relationship with yourself and your past. To shift from fighting your story to walking alongside it. When you stop being at war with your history, you stop being its victim. You become free to grow from it, rather than staying trapped reacting to it.

You are not the worst thing you’ve done, or the hardest thing you’ve been through. You’re the man still standing.

The Gifts Hiding Inside The Hard Work

Processing your past and letting it actually teach you something is a huge win. But that act of learning can be very heavy. It requires building real muscle. Potentially new muscle.

Self-compassion
Radical honesty
Willingness to sit with discomfort without running from it

Here’s what happens when you finally stop wasting your energy fighting: you get all of that energy back. It becomes yours and you can focus that energy elsewhere. This isn’t just “feel-good” energy. It’s the fuel for you and who you want to be. Your ethics, faith, and integrity.

Fortified For The Road Ahead

The road is rarely smooth. You know this already. Life demands resilience from all of us.

But here’s the difference: a man at war with himself is easily broken, because his energy is already spent before the day begins. A man who has made peace with his past? He’s fortified. He moves through difficulty without need to first confirm his worth. He doesn’t scan for validation because he’s already found it — not from someone else, but from inside his own skin.

When we embrace our whole story something unexpected happens. We become more honest. With ourselves. With the men around us. We stop performing, and we start showing up. It doesn’t mean we love our story or express gratitude for the horrible things that might have happened (that can be another post). It means we accept it and lay down our swords, ending the war with what’s already happened. From that place we can show up in our authenticity with less fear. This is the foundation of real connection and brotherhood. It’s what makes community more than just a group of men in the same room.

This journey isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about having the courage, finally, to be who you already are when the fight is over.

Brother, the fight can be over. It’s not easy. It doesn’t happen in a day. But it can happen. Not because everything is resolved, but because you’ve chosen to stop fighting yourself.

In my years of men’s work, there’s one four-letter word I’ve always carefully avoided. It’s caused me tremendous fear and has made my heart twist into knots. I’ve avoided it because of all it’s connotations and what I thought it would do to my life. If this word were to escape my lips, the terror is, it would change my whole being. My outlook on life would need to be different and I would be forever… Someone else. Shudder The thought of it still gives me some anxiety and I wonder if still, even today, it’s best left unsaid. How can I be me, the me I’ve come to accept and love, if I allow this word to become part of my vernacular?

Hope

Such a small and seemingly simple word I’ve kept at bay for as long as I can remember. HOPE. In retrospect it seems so silly and yet at the same time, I still utter the word with a hint of fear. Can I really be the same me as I’ve always been and ALSO be hopeful?

Some call me a pessimist. I’ve always preferred “realist-with-melancholy-tendencies,” but pessimist has worked for me. It’s allowed me to stay really comfortable. But I’ve realized I’ve been hiding, even from myself, who I really am with concern I’d need to become an outgoing, extroverted, smiley-smiley, life of the party, optimist. Yuck! Not that there’s anything wrong with those people, it’s just not me. (Please oh please don’t tell me I’ll be writing again in a year saying it IS me!?)

But it’s time I come out of my closet and face the truth. I seem to be an optimist. Hmmmm. Not only that, but I’m often hopeful things will turn out okay. They’ll get better and some may even turn out really well. I can both feel my body tighten up as I share this and I also feel the relief of sharing it at the same time.

I can both maintain the me some, including myself have come to know and love and integrate hope into my being. Me, the “realist-with-melancholy-tendencies,” being hopeful. For better or worse, it’s the hard times that have brought it out of me. I realized one day, I’m just not the “everything is horrible, we’re all gonna die someday anyway” kinda guy I thought I was. I was able to look at a situation and say to myself, “wow, this stinks. But I believe it’ll get better.” Right there, hope smacked me in the face and I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

A New Lesson Learned

Another glimpse into figuring me out. I’ve learned (again) that labeling myself and boxing me in isn’t the answer. It never is. I am the pessimist. And the optimist. I’m the realist and sometimes the opportunist. Yet I still get to be the hilarious “realist-with-melancholy-tendencies.”

Whatever it is, I am me. Today, dropping labels and the fear of hope, I feel more me than ever. It is my belief that those who keep going even when all hope seems lost, are really the most hopeful.

Just keep going.

Most people don’t realize how much of their life is quietly governed by one question: “What will they think of me?”

That single concern shapes what we say, what we share, and what we hide. It influences how freely we show up—and how carefully we try to manage appearances.

If you’re like me, you’ve probably spent far too much of your life worrying:

• Did I say the wrong thing?

• Did I overshare?

• Do they think less of me now?

Beneath all of it sits a deeper fear: If they truly knew me, they would reject me.

This isn’t usually about ego or image management. It runs much deeper. It’s about belonging, safety, and being allowed to exist as we are.

At A New Man, we see this struggle show up again and again—especially among men who learned early in life that approval had to be earned.

At its core, worrying about what others think is not a character flaw. It’s a protective strategy.

So you learned to edit yourself.
You read the room.
You learned how to stay acceptable.
To be who or what other people expected you to be.

That strategy may have kept you connected at one point in your life—but it eventually became a cage.

Being Seen Is a Human Need

Remember this important truth: Being seen is not always the same thing as being judged.

So many of us have spent our lives assuming, “If they truly knew me and knew who I really am, they would reject me.”

“They” in this case could be anyone—a family member, friend, someone we don’t even really know very well. Strangers, even.

It’s a debilitating thought that keeps us hiding, stuck and hurting.

Healing begins when you learn through lived experience—and yes, risk—that visibility does not automatically equal danger, especially in the presence of mature, grounded men and women.

I’ve experienced this again and again in my life. And over time, it’s become immensely easier.

I remember, years ago, thinking, “I’ll do anything it takes to overcome my struggles—with one caveat: No one must ever find out.”

Of course, that debilitating fear of disclosure kept me struggling in isolation and distrust. I came to learn that my struggles and issues were relational, which meant they could only be healed in relationships.

Today, my story is searchable on the internet. One only needs to Google my name to learn what I once kept so deeply hidden.

Though I would not suggest this level of disclosure for most people, for me it has been quite freeing. I now assume that anyone I meet has potentially read about my story, and that’s okay. There is freedom in not hiding. There is freedom in not being ashamed.

The Shift That Changes Everything: Approval → Alignment

Here’s a question worth practicing: Instead of asking, “Do they approve of me?,” try asking,“Am I acting in alignment with my values right now?”

This is a quiet but radical shift.

When your actions are aligned with your integrity, your sense of worth becomes internal, not negotiated. You may still care what others think—but their opinions no longer determine who you are.

This is not about becoming insensitive or indifferent. It’s about becoming anchored.

The Hard (and Liberating) Truth

Most people are not thinking about you nearly as much as you imagine.

Way back in high school, I read a quote that was said in such humorous irony mixed with blistering truth that is has stayed with me ever since: “You wouldn’t worry what people thought of you if you realized how seldom they do.”

I found it hilarious, but humbling. In a good way. It was a blunt but friendly reminder to myself: Get over yourself. It’s not all about you. Move on.

The truth is, most people are too preoccupied with their own insecurities, their own wounds, and their own stories to worry too much about yours.

And when someone does judge you harshly, it inevitably reveals a great deal about their own inner world and virtually nothing about you.

Understanding this doesn’t make judgment disappear—but it reduces its authority.

Freedom Comes From Surviving Disapproval

In the 25 years since I started working in healing circles, I have received a great deal of affirmation and appreciation for my work from those who value it—and a great deal of hate and hostility from those who find it offensive.

Thankfully, almost no one who actually knows me has been hostile to me. The hostility has come almost entirely from strangers.

Years ago, I came up with my own personal, tongue-in-cheek mantra: “If no one hates you, how important are you really?”

It reminds me that even Jesus was hated. In fact, history is filled with people who were hated for speaking truth and doing good. I realized, not everyone has to like me in order for me to be okay.

I love a quote often attributed to the poet and playwright Oscar Wilde: “I don’t expect everyone to like me. I would think less of myself if certain people did.”

The quote makes me think, Why should someone else’s opinion of me matter more than my own? Since when did I decide to “outsource” my self-worth to someone else?

The bottom line: We don’t need to eliminate fear of disapproval. We just need to outgrow its control.

After all, freedom doesn’t come from being admired.

It comes from being anchored in who you are, even when others don’t understand.

You may still wonder what others think of you. But they no longer get to determine who you are.

There’s a quiet lie many of us carry without even realizing it:
If I’m healing, I should be getting better all the time.

Stronger. Clearer. More in control. Less reactive. Always moving forward.
But that’s not how real healing works.

For the men doing the work, showing up, and choosing growth, it’s important to understand this truth early and often:

Setbacks are not proof that healing isn’t working.
They’re often proof that it is.

The Myth of Linear Progress

We like neat little boxes where everything lines up. Straight lines. Point A to point B clarity. Effort in, results out.

But emotional work doesn’t follow that model.

It looks more like:

• Two steps forward, one step back

• Long stretches of quiet growth followed by sudden struggle

• Breakthroughs… followed by moments that feel like you’re right back where you started

That last one can hit the hardest.

You think: “I already dealt with this. Why is it back?” or “How am I so much wiser and still dealing with the same question!?”

But healing isn’t about deleting parts of your story. The pain doesn’t necessarily go away. We learn to hold it better. To meet our challenges differently each time they show up. Expecting something that’s been wired for years to disappear in a few hours, or even a few sessions, is a big ask.

When Old Patterns Reappear

Growth often works in cycles. Each time something resurfaces, you’re not starting over — you’re starting from a new place, with more awareness, more tools, and more strength than before.

Not all progress feels like progress.

Sometimes growth looks like:

• Pausing before reacting (even if you still react)

• Noticing what you’re feeling (even if you still end up numbing it later)

• Choosing honesty when it would be easier to shut down

• Coming back after a hard moment instead of disappearing

These are not small things.
They are foundational shifts.

And they often happen quietly, without the emotional “high” we expect from change.

Why Setbacks Matter

Setbacks do something important. They reveal what’s still sensitive. They show us where our work isn’t finished. That we are not finished products. They invite us to practice, not just understand. Without them, healing stays theoretical and with them it’s very real.

Staying the Course

For men committed to growth, the challenge isn’t avoiding setbacks. It’s interpreting them. Instead of seeing ourselves back at square one, try noticing how we’re approaching the same situation differently. Instead of thinking, I’ve done this before, try recognizing any new tools you might be showing up with.

Brotherhood Matters Here

This is why you don’t walk this road alone.

Because when we hit those moments — when it feels like nothing is changing — we need men around us who can remind:

• You’re not the only one going through it

• This is part of the process

• You’ve come further than you think

Often, others can see our growth more clearly than we can.

Healing is not a straight path. It’s a winding road with repetition, resistance, and return.

But every time you come back to the work you are moving forward, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Stay the course. Recognize the small victories. That’s where real change happens.

There’s a not so fine line between being real or open and full exposure or brutal honesty. I’ve had countless conversations with others about how they have a desire to be completely open and honest with everyone about who they are. To share their deep darkness and their shadows in order to feel completely accepted by others. It’s a difficult call to make. Wouldn’t it be nice if being real and being vulnerable didn’t have to be congruous? There is risk involved and though most may, there will always be those who don’t love you for who you are. No one can please everyone.

Not Even Everyone Likes Vanilla

The conundrum, I believe, comes as a result of an inherent desire we carry as human beings to be loved and accepted for who we are. While the desire is healthy and natural, it leads people into debates like this one. Do I share or do I hide? Should I be open or keep things to myself? How will I know I’m acceptable for who I am if I don’t share who I REALLY am?

There’s absolutely no reason anyone should have to go through life hiding. We all need people we can trust who will return our trust with attention, affection, and affirmation. All of us. Some of us need it more than others but it’s something we all need in one way or another. The most important person who needs to accept me though, is myself. In some ways I’m also the most difficult because there’s not a single fall, failure, or misdeed that I’m not present for in my own life. It is, however, quite difficult to find acceptance and love in others when I don’t accept myself. I believe this is where the need for everyone to accept me comes into play. It’s when I don’t have SELF-acceptance that I need it from all people outside of me and when this is the case, I have a desire to be fully transparent with everyone in order to test their acceptance of me.

It Begins At Home

Self acceptance doesn’t mean I’m perfect. It doesn’t mean I’m finished with my growth. It means even as dissatisfied as I may be with myself at this point because of my thoughts or behaviors, I respect where I am. I see myself and accept where I am, maintaining my desire for continued growth. When I can be myself with myself and give myself permission to be the way I am, I can begin to accept myself more fully in the presence of others, even without their approval.

I personally don’t believe the old saying “one can’t love others until he loves himself,” but I do think we can love more fully and better engage in relationship from this place of self-love. I believe we can be fully who we are and still maintain a level of appropriateness for each specific relationship. A different level of transparency with each one.

Not Everyone Deserves To Hear Your Story

Your story will inspire others. It’s yours and you should feel intimate, and connected to your process. We’ve all been though difficulty and change. We’ve all made decisions and encountered defeat in some form or another. However, though it will inspire others, not everyone deserves to know your story. Not everyone needs to know the skeletons you keep in your closet. Some people will accept you for the public version of you. When you find yourself a few close friends who really know you and fill your tank with attention, affection, and affirmation it’s no longer necessary to share all of you with everyone. Not being fully real doesn’t make you fake. Not everyone deserves to know your story. Not everyone will accept you for who you are and that’s fine. Not even everyone likes vanilla.

When a man does his work and begins to understand himself better — his needs, his wounds, his longing for connection — a frightening question often arises:

What if the people I love most will never be able to love me in the way I need?

It’s a fair question and the honest answer isn’t always comforting.

No one can guarantee you that your family will love you in the way that you believe you need to be loved.

This truth can land hard. When a man begins to understand his emotional needs—for respect, affection, safety, validation, presence—he may suddenly look back at the relationships that shaped him and feel a painful gap between what he needed and what he got.

Sometimes the people who were supposed to give us love simply didn’t know how.

• They may not have had the language for it.

• They may not have had healthy models for it.

• They were carrying their own wounds and their own need to be loved.

When a man finally sees this clearly, there can be a powerful temptation to give up on those relationships entirely.

Many men surrender their family relationships too quickly.

I’m not saying their pain isn’t real. Boundaries in these relationships might create the safety and order you crave. But letting go of these relationships completely can be too absolute: If they can’t love me the way I need, then the relationship is hurtful or even toxic. It just simply isn’t the case most of the time.

Just because someone cannot love you the way you want does not mean they can’t love you.

Love often exists in imperfect forms. It’s shown through awkward gestures, practical support, clumsy attempts at connection, or family traditions that never really carried emotional weight but tried to anyway.

For many men, growth includes learning two truths at the same time:

First: Some people in your life may never meet certain emotional needs you have.
Second: That doesn’t automatically erase the love they do feel for you or the ineffective ways they’ve tried to express it.

Both things can be true.

Growth doesn’t have to mean burning bridges. Sometimes it means adjusting expectations. Sometimes it means grieving what wasn’t or isn’t there. Sometimes it means redefining the relationship so it can exist in a way that no longer hurts you. Maybe into a way that even nurtures you.

It might also mean something that many men overlook:

Your family is not the only place your needs can be met. Friends, mentors, brothers, communities—there are so many people in the world who may be able to show up for you in ways your family never could. Your family can still have a healthy place in your life while getting some of your needs for affection met elsewhere. (I say ‘some,’ because many run to this option too quickly, looking to get all their needs met by friends and unintentionally distancing themselves from family).

When men begin to build those connections, something powerful happens. The pressure on the original family system eases. Instead of demanding that one relationship meet every need, life becomes a network of relationships where different kinds of love can exist simultaneously. Each touching a different part of a man’s soul.

The work then, is not choosing between hanging on or letting go.

The work is learning how to hold complexity:

• Accepting what your family can give.

• Acknowledging what they cannot.

• Allowing love to exist without needing it to be perfect.

• And opening your life to people who can meet you where you are as you are.

When men hear this kind of honesty, something often shifts in the room. If they can bring themselves to open to these imperfect connections, something softens. Shoulders relax. Energy rises. There’s relief in being open to a new possibility.

There’s nothing wrong with grieving what wasn’t there. Your longing is valid. You are allowed to need more and at the same time, to recognize that love—even imperfect love—still counts. And you deserve every bit of it.

They say to write what you know, and unfortunately, I know.

If you’ve ever wondered why we sometimes feel disconnected, unmotivated, or strangely numb during moments when we want to feel alive, there’s a simple — and slightly inconvenient — explanation.

Your brain wasn’t designed to make you happy.
It was designed to keep you alive.

That’s a very different job description.

The Survival Brain Isn’t Concerned With Your Joy

From an evolutionary standpoint, your brain’s top priority is to scan for danger, conserve energy, and avoid risks. Happiness, fulfillment, creativity, and purpose are wonderful, but they’re not essential for basic survival. Worse, happiness, purpose and connection, require an element of risk. So, when the brain senses uncertainty, overwhelm, or emotional intensity, it often chooses the safest option: shut down, withdraw, disconnect. Run, run, run.

Not because you’re broken.
Not because you’re failing.
But because your brain thinks it’s protecting you.

When Protection Feels Like Disconnection

The tricky part is that the brain’s “safety mode” doesn’t feel safe at all. It can feel like:

• Losing motivation

• Feeling emotionally flat

• Struggling to connect with others

• Feeling sad or heavy for no obvious reason

• Wanting to hide from the world

While the brain interprets these states as protective, we interpret them as suffering. And that mismatch can make you feel like something is wrong with you — when in reality, your brain is doing exactly what it was built to do.

Survival Mode Isn’t Your Fault — But It Is Your Responsibility

Here’s the empowering part:
You can’t change the brain you were born with, but you can train it.

Your brain may default to survival, but it’s also incredibly adaptable. With awareness and practice, you can teach it that certain experiences — vulnerability, creativity, connection, ambition — are not threats but pathways to a richer life.

That means:

• Choosing what nourishes you, even when your brain resists

• Allowing yourself to feel, even when it’s uncomfortable

• Taking small risks that remind your brain the world isn’t always dangerous

• Reconnecting with your body instead of living entirely in your thoughts

These aren’t quick fixes. They’re acts of reclaiming your aliveness. They take time. Often, they hurt along the way.

You Deserve More Than Just Survival

Your brain’s job is to keep you alive.
Your job is to teach it what living actually means.

When you understand that your shutdowns and sadness are not personal failures but survival strategies, you can meet yourself with more compassion and more choice. You can start steering your life toward what makes you feel awake, connected, and fully human.

You are not broken, and your brain isn’t out to get you. Survival has kept you alive until this point.
But you’re here for so much more than survival.

Emotional Facades

There’s a disconnect in the world we live in today from who we really are. I wear this mask for this friend and change for the next. We turn on this persona for work and then change who we are completely for play (if we play at all). I have a facade that comes out in groups and another for when I’m alone with someone.

We are a result of a pop culture telling us to keep our teeth perfectly white and straight, our hair thick and tidy, and to only wear clothes with brand names on them. We’re told to be happy and bouncy all the time while the late night infomercials tell us about this anti-depressant and the next, with possible side effects of depression and death.

The truth is, we’re not happy all the time.

Some of us would love to be leaders and lights that just radiate joy all the time. But that’s not practical.

By nature, as human beings our emotions are fluid. We constantly move from one feeling to the next often without realizing the causes. Many of us have trained ourselves not to feel this feeling or that one, having picked up along the way that anger is bad or fear is weak.

But they’re there, and the longer we fool ourselves into thinking they aren’t, the more we cheat ourselves out of being fully human and authentic. Chances are, if we’re blocking ourselves from anger or fear, we’re also keeping ourselves from joy in many of life’s moments.

Finding Help

One of the many avenues I’ve found that help men on their road to being fully expressive is authenticity. Now that can sound like a fancy word that may or may not carry a lot of meaning to you.

What is authenticity? Webster’s defines authentic as follows:

au·then·tic
adjective \ə-ˈthen-tik, ȯ-\
: real or genuine : not copied or false
: true and accurate
: made to be or look just like an original

Great! All set. Now what?

It is my belief, for a man to show up as his authentic self takes both risk and vulnerability. Now, I know sometimes the word vulnerability can be scary as Hell. Especially for men who are taught to be solid and manly (said in a deep voice with a grunt for good measure) all the time.

Seems to me though, being able to be vulnerable and real with how I’m feeling takes guts. Pardon me for saying so, but it takes balls. Guts and balls are manly.

Men Need Men

I once heard someone say “men are naturally tribal. We’re meant to be together.” So that’s a start. We all need community in order to feel safe to be fully authentic and real. Because let’s face it, my office isn’t the best place for me to decide to finally unwrap the anger I’ve been sitting on, and my the dinner table with my spouse probably isn’t the ideal time for me to let loose my pent up fears.

But there are other men out there who can and will support us with that. I’ve just gotta take a chance. It may be a close friend or our support might be therapists, coaches, or mentors. But these men can help us open up, be real, and authentic. They can help us be free.

Being Free

And isn’t that what living fully is all about?! I think so, because though possibly very comfortable most of the time, the mask gets really heavy now and then. When I give myself permission to be fully expressive, not only does it expand me, it unconsciously gives those around me permission to do the same. Your bravery not only helps you, it’s also a gift to others.

This won’t be the most eloquent thing I share here but I think it’s still very much worth sharing.

Old stories— we all have them. The ones that play like background noise in our minds, especially when we’re tired, stretched thin, or trying to step into something bigger.

“You’re not good enough.”
“You always mess things up.”
“They’re going to see right through you.”
“You’re too much / too little/ too late.”

They can sound like facts. They can even feel like facts. They’ll often wear the disguise of logic or humility. But the truth is: they’re lies. Even if they’re true sometimes, when they’re labels, they’re still lies. They’re conditioned patterns. Echoes of one’s pain. Things you absorbed before you knew how to protect yourself or to question them.

The first step in disarming a story is recognizing we’re in one. Literally in one. We can recognize this pattern when the inner voice is suddenly harsh, absolute, or laced with malice and shame. When there’s a sense of tightness. When we’re reacting more than responding.

We obsess over non-objective truths. But they’re not truths. They’re scripts, and the longer we leave them unchecked, the more power they have over us and our lives.

A Practice

Here’s a practice that has changed everything for me:

When I catch myself mid-story, I physically stop. I imagine the lie as something I can hold in my hand. I take the thought/ the accusation/ the shame and I place it into the palm of my hand.

I hold it out in front of me. I look at it.
And I say, with full conviction: “NO.” (Occasionally my choice of language is a bit more colorful).

Not to myself.
To the lie.

To the pattern that has continued to keep me small.
To the voice that’s not actually mine.
To the belief that does not belong in the life I’m creating.

There’s something potent about giving it shape and then rejecting it out loud. It snaps me back into reality. Into agency. It reminds me: I am not my thoughts.

Why This Works

When I don’t interrupt a story, I’ll live from it, and when I live from a lie, I create more evidence that prove my patterns true. It’s a vicious cycle. By naming it, externalizing it, and rejecting it, I break the loop. We can step out of the story by actively naming and rejecting it. But we’ve got to recognize it first.

This practice doesn’t mean the story won’t return. It took years to build and it won’t disappear quickly. But it won’t run the show anymore.

You are not the voice that tears you down.
You are not the fear, or the shame, or the insecurity.
You can be the observer. The one who gets to choose what gets to stay.

So, the next time that old voice pipes up, don’t fight with it. Don’t try to prove or justify yourself. Just take the story, put it in your hand, look it in the “eye,” and say:

“NO!”
(or your own version)

Then move on. You’ve got better stories to write.

I once saw a meme that said something like, “the strongest people find the courage and the caring to help others, even if they are going through their own storm.” And sure, there’s truth to that — for some men. But I’ve come to see another side of the story, one that speaks more deeply to my own experience.

For many of us, it’s actually easier to disappear into other people’s problems than to face our own. It can be a distraction, a way to avoid our own pain while appearing to be the “strong one.” But for men like me, the real act of courage isn’t in giving help — it’s in asking for it.

I grew up with a “strong as a bull” mentality. Handle your own business. Don’t show weakness. Asking for help was not an option. Not if I wanted to believe I was strong. I clung to that belief system like a safety blanket. It kept me from risking failure. It kept me isolated. I told myself I was self-sufficient, but in truth, I was hiding. I wore the mask of strength while living in fear of being seen as weak.

Then something shifted.

Men — good men — showed up for me even when I didn’t ask them to.

They saw me. They challenged me. They invited me into the center. Into the light and, with it, into the terrifying possibility of being known. Somewhere in that exposure, I found a surprising (and confusing) companion: vulnerability.

Not the polished kind. Not the trendy buzzword version. I mean the raw, uncomfortable, gut-wrenching act of letting others see my flaws, my struggles, my not-having-it-all-together. It was there , in that very place I had learned to fear, that I discovered real strength.

Yes, I still carry old wiring. The voice that says I should have it all together. The fear that needing help means I’m not enough or worse, failing. But that fear doesn’t run the show anymore. It doesn’t lock me in the way it once did. Now, I know that true strength, for me, is showing up as I really am. Not just the strong parts, but the scared parts, the overwhelmed parts, and the hurting parts too.

It has to be the right people

Of course, not every space is safe. Not every person can hold my vulnerability with care. But there are safe men. There are good men. Brothers who will walk with me not in spite of my flaws, but because of them. Others who might even love me more for being real.

Today, I’m proud to be walking this path, becoming one of those men. A man who can make room for others and who isn’t afraid to say, “Me too.” A man who offers a safe space not because he’s perfect, but because he’s willing to be human alongside other men.

To the men who continue to be that for me, thank you. Your courage has helped me find mine. And to those of you still on the journey — I see you. You’re not alone.

You Are Worth the Wait: A Compassionate Outlook on Healing

For those of us walking a path of healing, it’s easy to get caught in a loop of urgency. We want to feel better now. We want to move forward, shed old patterns, find peace, love well, and live free. Urgency can feel like a push toward survival, but healing, at its heart, asks us to slow down.

Healing is not linear. It’s not a straight path upward, nor is it predictable. Some days feel like breakthroughs and others like breakdowns. But this isn’t failure. This is the nature of healing. It’s complex, layered, and deeply vulnerable.

Patience isn’t passive—it’s an active choice

It takes intention and courage to choose patience, especially in a world that rewards urgency and productivity. For trauma survivors, that choice can feel even harder. Trauma often teaches us to abandon ourselves. To disconnect, dissociate, shut down, or ignore our own needs just to survive. So, to be patient is to reclaim something. It’s saying: I’m willing to stay with myself, even when it’s hard. I’m willing to move at the speed of what feels safe and true for me.

But patience also requires emotional honesty. If we’re not careful, it can become a disguise for avoidance. We might tell ourselves we’re being gentle when, in truth, we’re afraid to face the next layer of healing. Healthy, growth-oriented patience means being honest about where we are, and being willing to engage in the work when the time is right. Honesty asks: Am I resting or am I hiding? Am I being kind to myself or am I letting fear or laziness stall me out?

Hurry up and get it right!

Going slow doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It may mean you’re doing it with integrity. Healing isn’t about looking good. It’s about building something real, something resilient, and something that can truly last.

We can’t shame ourselves into healing. No amount of self-criticism will produce the tenderness our wounds actually need. Self-compassion doesn’t mean we excuse harmful behavior or stay stuck in victimhood. It means we acknowledge our pain with honesty and gentleness. It means we choose to meet ourselves the way we wish someone had met us during our most difficult moments.

It can be tempting to think of healing as a destination. Something we must earn, complete, or prove or an end point we need to reach. Every small act of courage counts. Every boundary you hold, every moment of kindness toward yourself, every act of accountability, every time you ask for help, every time you pause before reacting… That’s healing. That’s progress. So even before you’re supposedly done, you’re in the process. You’re doing it.

You are healing!

We just have to keep showing up with patience, compassion, and honesty. When we fall, which we all do, we can get up and try again.

You are not broken. You are healing. And in that healing, there is immense beauty. Let it unfold in its own time. You are worth the wait.