It was never a fight

I get why women are angry.

I do.

And the worst thing I, as a man, can do

is rush in with excuses,

rush in to attack or defend,

pretending this is about winning an argument

or proving I’m one of the “good ones.”

Because this isn’t a fight between women and men,

this isn’t masculinity versus femininity.

There’s nothing to attack or defend.

That’s not the fight.

Women are angry—rightfully so.

My work is to hear it without collapsing.

Without attacking.

Without minimizing.

Without needing to fix it

or make it stop

so I can feel okay again.

Because anger doesn’t always signal a fight.

Sometimes it signals a wound.

And women are wounded—

by men.

Every single day.

But here’s what I’m learning:

if my growth depends on their anger,

if my change is just a reaction to being called out,

then I’m still a boy

trying to manage the discomfort

instead of facing the source.

When I change only to quiet the anger,

I’m still trying to control it.

Still trying to control her.

Still scrambling like a scared son

in front of a disappointed mother—

begging the noise to stop

so I can feel safe again.

That’s not accountability.

That’s management.

And boys?

Boys manage.

Boys fight.

Boys grasp at control.

Boys try to control the anger.

Boys try to control women.

Boys dominate, suppress, placate—

whatever ends the discomfort,

whatever lets them feel back in control.

But can’t you see?

Control never ends.

It just demands more.

And so we drift—

further and further apart.

All because we cannot stand

that women are angry at us.

All because the boy inside

is terrified of not being enough.

But this?

This is not a fight.

This is a call.

Not to redirect the blade inward—

but to put the sword down entirely

and finally face what’s true.

Because the real fight isn’t out there.

It’s in here.

In the corners I avoid,

the shadows I hide,

the armor I’ve built around my heart.

A man who hasn’t met his own fear

goes to war for the wrong things.

He fights for validation.

He fights for control.

He fights for the illusion of strength

because he can’t stand

the feeling of not being enough.

But a man in honest relationship with himself—

he doesn’t need to fight.

He stands grounded, open, accountable—

not because he conquered fear,

but because he stopped letting fear run the show.

A man can protect, provide, support—

and still be driven by fear.

Protection from fear says:

“I must manage this so I don’t feel helpless.”

Protection from love says:

“I’m here because you matter to me.”

The actions can look identical.

The origin is everything.

Security from fear is exhausting.

Security from love is steady.

Quiet.

Real.

So the work is this:

in the tiny moments,

in the Tuesday-afternoon moments,

when someone I love is frustrated

and my chest tightens

and I want to explain, defend, withdraw—

can I ask myself:

Is this action serving my fear,

or expressing my care?

This isn’t about arriving.

There’s no finish line.

Just a thousand small choices.

A thousand moments of catching myself

when fear grabs the wheel.

A thousand chances

to stay open

when closing feels safer.

A real man doesn’t protect to feel big.

He protects from love.

He provides from love.

He supports from love.

He builds safety,

not to prove anything,

but because it’s who he is becoming.

This—

this right here—

is the initiation.

Not the moment I declare myself changed,

but the moment I stop performing growth

and start living it.

Quiet.

Steady.

Real.