They see that I am a safe man. That’s what they tell me.
And I’m glad to say that I am — finally.
It wasn’t always this way. Like many of us raised as boys, I had to unlearn so much:
the ways I’d internalized entitlement, emotional distance, and unconscious dominance.
The subtle (and not so subtle) ways I had performed manhood instead of living it.
But I did the work. I let it break me open.
I listened. I unlearned. I stayed in the discomfort.
I let women, nonbinary folks, and other men teach me.
And I found my way back to something honest —
a masculinity rooted in presence, integrity, and care.
So when women come to me and say,
“I want to work out my relationship with men… with the masculine. Will you help me?”
My answer is yes.
- Yes to the grief.
- Yes to the anger.
- Yes to the longing.
- Yes to the tenderness and to the sacred fury beneath it all.
Yes to playing whatever role their healing asks of me:
the partner, the father, the brother, the ex, the witness.
Not as performance, but as presence.
In a space where they know — without a doubt —
- they will not be judged.
- they will not be shamed.
- they will not be sexualized.
- And they will not be harmed.
Why not work with a woman?
They can. And many do.
That work is beautiful, essential.
But this…
This is different work.
There is something profoundly healing about being held by a man
who doesn’t flinch.
Who doesn’t collapse.
Who doesn’t need to fix or defend.
Who simply stays — open, grounded, and present —
while they reclaim their voice, their anger, their softness, their truth.
This is not theoretical.
This is lived.
This is practiced.
This is sacred.
And it’s an honor every time.