We were raised to be strong—but not this kind of strong.

Not the kind that wakes up every day with a clenched jaw and a locked spine. Not the kind that can gut an elk but can’t say, “I’m not okay.” Not the kind that swallows grief with whiskey, slaps duct tape over pain, and calls it “just being a man.”

Somewhere along the line, we got handed a blueprint for masculinity—handwritten in shame, reinforced with locker room bravado, and soaked in generational trauma. It said:
Don’t cry.
Don’t talk.
Don’t feel.
Just lift more. Work more. Drink more. Rage more.

And if you crack? Crack in private.

The Cost of Being Unbreakable

Here’s the dirty secret that nobody tacked onto that blueprint: it’s killing us.

Men are taking their own lives in record numbers. We’re more likely to die from stress-related illnesses. More likely to overdose. More likely to isolate until we’re just a shadow on the edge of our own families.

This isn’t just about men, either. The fallout of faux masculinity ripples out.
Ask the woman who’s begging her partner to open up.
Ask the daughter who’s never seen her father cry.
Ask the friend who didn’t call for help because “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

The cultural script we inherited has consequences—silent, invisible, and deadly.

The Myth of Strength

They told us toughness was about clenched fists and closed mouths. But real strength? It’s messier.

It’s being accountable when you screw up.
It’s calling your buddy instead of the bottle.
It’s sitting in the woods with your grief and saying, “I’m still here.”

The version of masculinity that thrives on suppression, competition, and dominance isn’t strength—it’s a costume. One that doesn’t fit. One that chokes.

And too many of us are dying in that costume.

Rewilding Ourselves

I am not a expert unless you count white knuckling decades of trauma as experience the hell yes I am an expert , but I believe strength looks a little different. It's weathered, not polished. It's raw, not rehearsed.

I believe healing doesn’t always happen in therapy offices—sometimes it happens with mud on your boots and a storm in your chest.
I believe vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s what keeps us human.
I believe you don’t have to keep carrying the weight of every man who came before you.

Let the wilderness undo the damage. Let it strip away what was never yours to carry. Let it remind you: you were never meant to do this alone.

Burn the Blueprint

Rip up the old plan. Rewrite what strength means.

Say I’m not okay.
Say I’m trying.
Say I love you, even if your voice shakes.

Because silence isn’t strength. Armor isn’t love. And dying with your story still inside you is not the legacy you were meant to leave.

You don’t have to be a perfect man.
You just have to be a real one.