Journey Into

By Michael French, MA, LPC

A Man’s Man. An illusion?

Hello! Today’s Journey Into looks at the idea of what makes a man masculine—and what allows that same man to be vulnerable. What helps him lower his guard and let someone see a little of the inside.

The illustration above is the image most men are taught to aspire to. We try to show the world that version of ourselves: confident, composed, successful. Confidence is king, and success is supposed to be part of that masculinity.

Several years ago, while working on my master’s degree in counseling, I had an idea for a book. I wanted to explore the factors that help a man lower his guard, and the factors that keep him from showing his inner self. Maybe that book will still happen but for right now, this writing will do. If you look at the image at face value, you might think this guy doesn’t have a care in the world. To slightly paraphrase a famous song from Starship, nothing’s going to stop him now.

It’s a great image. And we try our best to show the world that version of ourselves. We do it with the “toys” we buy. The latest iPhone that ad agencies insist you need or you’re missing out. The clothes we wear or the big houses we move into. I remember a cologne commercial in the 80s promising that if you used that scent, women would flock to you because you were a “man’s man.” I tried that cologne. That commercial lied. Not even close.

And then there was the Marlboro Man in the 70s. Rugged. Stoic. A man who could tame the wilderness just by looking at it. Thankfully, I never got into smoking, but I sometimes wonder what life would have been like if I had been blessed with those wilderness‑man looks and that quiet, unshakeable confidence. Unfortunately, the Marlboro Man died of lung cancer after 30 years of smoking. His version of manhood didn’t quite work out.

Most Mens Reality

Before I go any further, take a look at the image above. A man sitting alone on a bench, leaning forward slightly, hands clasped. A quiet room. Soft light. No audience. No performance. Just a man and his thoughts.

That’s how most men actually live—internally, privately, and often silently. That was my father.

In 1988, Dad and his team helped save their company over half a million dollars. To reward them, the company gave each person a ten‑thousand‑dollar credit to spend from a merchandise catalog. We bought a lot of “stuff.” It felt exciting at the time. But it was also near the end of my parents’ marriage.

That Christmas, Dad didn’t buy us any gifts. Despite the strain in the marriage and in our relationship with him, we each bought him something. Dad was an alcoholic, and my sister bought him a twelve‑pack of beer. That’s what he liked, and I think she was sending a message—almost as if to say, If alcohol is what you choose over us, then that’s what you get. It was the last Christmas we spent together as a family of four.

After opening gifts, I went to my bedroom. I was twenty‑one and in my senior year at Northwest Missouri State University. Dad knocked on my door and came in. He apologized for not buying us anything and said we could use the rest of the reward points to get whatever we wanted from the catalog.

Then, in a moment completely uncharacteristic for him, he dropped his mask. He looked down, and with a sad heaviness in his face, said one of the most vulnerable things I ever heard from him: “I really don’t know who I am.”

For that moment, I connected with my father. But only for a moment. When I tried to respond with compassion, the wall went right back up. I saw a glimpse of his true self—scared, unsure, and very lonely. What I didn’t know then was that Dad was having an affair. When we eventually found out, I yelled at him and called him every name in the book. Not one of my finer moments.

I’ll never forget that day when he gave me another look. The mask fully back on. The wall reinforced. His eyes were stone cold, almost as if someone else was speaking through him. “Michael, what I do in my personal life is none of your business.”

That was his version of masculinity—distance, control, and a refusal to be seen.

In my thirties, I joined a men’s group called Men’s Fraternity. That group helped me begin to see some of my own “man wounds.” I also saw my father’s. Many men grew up with fathers like mine—present in the room but absent in the heart. Men who weren’t taught to hide their emotions, but learned to anyway. They learned for survival. They grew up in a generation that taught them that feelings and emotions weren’t safe to come out. Women were the emotional ones, not the guys.

I learned there was a term for this that fit my dad perfectly: Emotionally Distant. He was born in 1935, at the tail end of the Great Depression and the beginning of World War II. Men who aren’t taught that emotional depth is healthy end up relying solely on their outer attempts at manhood. Masculinity isn’t a mask by nature, but it can become one when a man feels that being seen is more dangerous than being strong.

The breakdown of the modern nuclear family is one reason men struggle even today. In my dad’s case, when his father divorced his mother when he was just six years old, Dad told me he never saw his father again. Many men have lived that same story—dads who leave, and sons who grow up without the one person who should be building the bridge between masculinity and vulnerability.

Why Opening Up Feels Dangerous.

In my job as a professional counselor, I work with men who carry wounds similar to my dad’s. Getting them to open up can be difficult. I’ve done a lot of inner work myself to grow in vulnerability, and I hope it shows up in my writing. But even with all that work, it’s still hard.

Now imagine how much harder it is for a man who hasn’t done any of that work. Men who have never journaled. Men who simply live, go to work, and keep moving. For some, grieving or sharing other emotions—especially in front of another person—feels almost impossible.

Two years ago, I joined another men’s program called Men of Honor. My pastor at the time, Jay Porter, created this ministry to help men walk this journey. It stretched a lot of guys. He asked us to read a book each month and write responses to assigned questions. One assignment was to write a letter to our younger self from ten years earlier—what wisdom or encouragement we would give that version of us. I actually had a lot to say apparently, because I wrote 4 pages.

For many men in the group, reading a book or writing anything longer than a paragraph was something they hadn’t done since high school or college. I loved the writing assignments—they jump‑started my creativity after a long slump. But Jay made it harder for the men by requiring at least one full page. Most guys would have preferred a paragraph. It pushed them, but in a good way.

So what are some of the factors that keep men from reaching that vulnerable state?

1. Men don’t know how. They weren’t taught how to go deep.

Most men were raised to manage life, not explore their inner world. Without models or language for emotional depth, vulnerability feels like unfamiliar territory rather than a natural part of being human. When we were in grade school, we were given vocabulary lists to help us learn new words and form more complex sentences. Some of us lack the emotional vocabulary to fully express those deeper areas.

2. Men fear a lack of safety if they have the courage to be vulnerable.

For many men, opening up feels like stepping into a space where the rules are unclear and the risks are high. If they’ve been hurt, dismissed, or shamed before, their nervous system remembers—and it warns them that honesty might cost more than it gives. This has been part of my story. What will others think if they find out or learn something about me that might be hard to hear?

3. Rejection and Abandonment

Many men carry the quiet fear that if they reveal too much, someone will walk away. When a man has lived through abandonment—whether literal or emotional—vulnerability feels like opening a door that once led to pain, and his heart warns him not to risk that again. I’ve lived this. These wounds tie directly to my father and his wounds. I felt emotionally abandoned by him, and he had been abandoned physically and emotionally by both his father and his mother. I reinforced false beliefs that I wasn’t good enough or adequate—wounds I carried most of my life. Even though doing the work has brought real healing, those old messages still surface from time to time.

4. Men are hiding something and being dishonest.

When a man carries secrets—mistakes, failures, addictions, betrayals—vulnerability feels like exposure rather than connection. The fear isn’t just about being seen; it’s about being found out, and that fear can shut down honesty long before the words ever reach the surface. This has been part of my story, sadly. It almost cost me my marriage. I remember my wife telling me that I wasn’t just lying to her—I was lying to myself. She was right.

5. Men fear burdening others.

Many men worry that sharing their inner world will place a weight on someone else—especially the people they love. They’ve been conditioned to carry everything alone, so the idea of handing even a small piece of their pain to another person feels selfish, risky, or unfair. I don’t struggle with this one as much, but I’ve heard it from many of the men I’ve counseled. One man told me he loved praying for others and supporting his friends and family, but he never asked for prayer for himself. He served everyone else, yet felt that letting others carry even a small part of his burden would be wrong. He felt he wouldn’t been seen as a strong man by sharing his cares with others.

Breaking the Mask: Moving From Image to Identity.

If you’ve struggled to be vulnerable with a friend or loved one, you might relate to the reasons above—or have your own. These are simply my observations and lived experiences. But if men are hindered by these barriers, then we have to ask: What is it about vulnerability that brings out authentic masculinity?

To get there, we need to define what masculinity actually is. You’ll hear different definitions depending on who you listen to. In Wild at Heart, John Eldredge describes masculinity in a way that has nothing to do with image, prestige, or how much money a man earns. His definition goes far deeper than what we see on the outside. It connects with the heart of God and His intentions for men.

Eldredge believes authentic masculinity is a journey toward embracing the heart God designed for men—a heart made for beauty, adventure, and battle. He writes that every man longs for “a battle to fight, an adventure to live, and a beauty to rescue.” These longings reflect a desire for purpose, courage, and connection. And woven into all of that is vulnerability. You cannot fight well, live deeply, or love fully if you’re hiding behind a mask. We have to be willing to break the mask.

Notice that Eldredge’s view of masculinity includes vulnerability. A relationship with God may be the missing link that equips men to speak more deeply, with conviction and passion. How would you define your relationship with the Lord? For me, it has been my relationship with God through His Son, Jesus Christ, that has helped me open up. It has given me the courage to be vulnerable with friends, family, and even clients.

Masculinity and vulnerability can exist together. One doesn’t have to be shunned for the other.

Identity Trackers

Now let’s get practical. How do we move beyond what we try to show the world and simply become who we fully are? Where do we track our identity from — or from whom?

If you’re a believer in Christ, or have some foundation of spiritual faith, knowing our identity in God is essential. Do we receive that identity? How does God see us as men? From my perspective as someone who follows Jesus, I need to know how my identity is found in Him. If you’re not of the Christian faith, the language may be different, but the need is the same — every man has to know where his identity comes from.

I draw strength from prayer and fellowship with God. Where do you draw strength from? What gives you hope? If you find identity in what you do for a living, that identity is only temporary. This is especially true for workaholics. When retirement comes, many men stumble into depression, wondering who they are without work.

The book of Ecclesiastes speaks directly to this. Solomon, son of David, is traditionally understood as its author. He describes his own search for identity — trying everything under the sun. He said chasing those things was like chasing the wind. He couldn’t catch what he was looking for, and it nearly drove him to despair. In the end, he realized that what mattered most was found in a relationship with God.

Brothers in Life

One thing that has surprised me when working with men is how many have very few friendships—especially friendships where they can go deep. Some men who don’t practice a particular faith often find connection through work or shared interests like sports. But those relationships don’t always create the space for masculine vulnerability. And this is true for many Christian men as well. I’ve met men who practice faith yet still struggle to connect on a deeper level with others who share the same belief. Some groups help facilitate that process, but many men never step into them.

In Kansas City, where I live, I got involved with E6 Ministries. I can’t say enough good things about this group. The leadership that founded it years ago is still leading today—and they don’t get paid. They’re passionate about walking with men through the masculine journey and showing how faith in Christ shapes that path.

I touch on this in my book: when men learn to connect with other men, they begin carrying each other’s burdens—and celebrating each other’s victories. Their wins become our wins. The NFL has finally started training camps, and men on the gridiron understand this better than most. They lean on each other. Nowhere is that more obvious than the offensive line. In Kansas City, The Chiefs O-Line protects Patrick Mahomes. Brotherhood is essential there. Protecting Patrick becomes nearly impossible if only one man tries to do the job. Superman might pull it off, but the rest of us wouldn’t stand a chance.

If you want to stop being an offense of one, you have to step out and find a group of men to connect with. The process is slow, and it runs against the speed of our culture. Many men give up after a few attempts. But the ones who stay build something special.

I’m grateful for my brothers — my offensive line, my brothers in warriorhood. Men who stand with me, fight beside me, and remind me who I am when the old messages try to pull me back. Make no mistake: we are in a battle for our manhood and the masculine heart. And no man wins that battle alone.

I’ve been able to be raw and fully myself in groups like E6. I don’t feel alone in my journey to know myself and to be fully masculine and fully vulnerable. If you want that in your life, feel free to comment. I’ll help you find local groups in your area where you can plug in.

In the end, masculinity isn’t the mask we wear, the image we project, or the strength we pretend to have. It’s what remains when the mask breaks. It’s the courage to be honest, the willingness to be known, and the humility to walk with other men who are learning the same thing. A man who lives with both strength and vulnerability becomes someone who can show up fully in his relationships. Partners tend to feel safer, more connected, and more valued when they’re with someone who knows who he is and isn’t afraid to be real. This kind of masculinity creates space for deeper trust, deeper intimacy, and a healthier bond. And when a man knows where his identity comes from, when he learns to trust God and lean on brothers in his life, he discovers a masculinity that is both strong and open, both grounded and growing. This is the journey we’re all on — a truer masculinity, a deeper vulnerability, a life lived without the mask.

Thanks for reading. If you made it this far, I’d love to hear your thoughts on what we’ve covered. Feel free to comment, like, send an email, and hit subscribe if you want future writings sent to your email.