He’s fine… until he’s not

A return to wholeness

Men Don’t Cry — But They’re Drowning

I’ve sat across from men who haven’t told another soul what they’ve just told me.

Men who’ve been praised for being strong — but whose strength has become their prison.

Men who’ve been told to get it together, harden up, be the rock.

Men who are holding their family together with silent desperation.

And I want to say this, plainly:

It’s not weakness to feel.
It’s not failure to need support.
It’s not unmanly to break open.

The truth is, many men are not okay. And they don’t always have the words to say so. Their anxiety shows up as rage. Their grief shows up as drinking. Their depression hides behind long hours at work or quiet withdrawal. Trauma gets buried in their bodies, in their marriages, in their parenting — in ways they don’t even realise.

And no one asks.

Or worse — when they finally speak, they’re not heard.

The Mask of Masculinity

There’s a deep, often invisible shame that many men carry. Shame for feeling too much. Or for not feeling at all. Shame for the things they’ve done. Or the things they couldn’t protect others from. Shame that they’re meant to lead, provide, fix — but inside they feel lost, hollow, numb.

In my practice, I see behind the mask.

I work with men who are angry, tender, confused, protective, avoidant, loyal, shattered. Men who are fathers, sons, partners, leaders. Men who are trying — in quiet, painful ways — to find their way back to themselves.

Not just to “function better.” But to feel whole.

This is the Work

I don’t offer quick fixes or fluffy affirmations. I offer a space where you can speak honestly — without judgement, without needing to impress or explain.

I work somatically, relationally, and systemically. That means we don’t just talk. We track the body, we name the family stories, and we challenge the patterns that keep you stuck. You’re not just a “problem to fix.” You’re a human in context. And context matters.

• The father who never hugged you.

• The mother you had to emotionally care for.

• The military, the sport, the church, the job — where strength meant silence.

• The divorce you didn’t want.

• The child you love, but don’t know how to reach.

All of it comes into the room. And we sit with it. Together.

You Don’t Have to Be at Breaking Point to Begin

Men’s mental health doesn’t have to be a crisis conversation.
It can be a brave one. A slow one. A quiet one.
It can be messy, real, raw — and still held with care.

I’m here for that kind of work.
Not surface talk.
Not band-aids.
But deep repair.

If you’re reading this and something stirs — reach out. You don’t need to have the right words. Just a willingness to show up.

You’re not broken.
You’re human.
Let’s start there.