Cry Like A ManEgzanp

Men: We’ve scaled the heights, lifted and carried enormous burdens, sailed vast oceans, and have even broken free from the atmosphere that enfolds us from birth to death, to fly among the stars. We mine the minerals and metals of the earth, create incredible machines that serve to propel us to our next aspiration. Yet amid all the risk and reward, the dilemmas and dangers, and the thrilling advances we’ve made, men have yet to conquer the most basic human ability—to cry.

Want to hear something shocking? It’s impossible to be strong all the time.

If we’re struck in the heart, our health, or our wallets, there’s no room for weakness. When we vent, we’re perceived as complainers. When we hurt, we’re wimps. When we’re tired, we’re being lazy. When we fight, we’re rebels. When we’re discouraged, we’re depressed. When we hesitate, we’re double minded, and when we cry, we’re soft. With all these predetermined judgments about us, it’s no wonder why so many of us “fake it to make it.”

From childhood through early puberty then into manhood, we’re conditioned to swallow our pain, expressing little but indifference and detachment about the chaos around us. It only makes sense that internalized stress and confusion build over time, creating a force that will eventually find a release hatch.

God (whom I often refer to as “the Most High”) has played an enormous role in releasing the inner turmoil of my past. His presence wasn’t something I was aware of early on, but as I grew older, losing my way in the critical decisions that would shape my future, I struggled with His very existence. Even the name “Jesus” held little importance. Paintings of Him cradling lambs or bouncing children on His knee seemed less than masculine, even “soft.” I rarely thought about His stunning bravery—willingly submitting to the brutality of evil men, even being nailed to a cross—and what it actually meant.

As my relationship with the Most High developed, I began to use the Hebrew name “Yahushua” when referring to Christ, and you’ll notice that name throughout this reading plan. But many times you’ll see “Yah” used for both the Father and the Son, as they are and will forever be One. It’s personal and reflects the greatness of who they are to me …

Heavenly Father, Savior, Friend.

My passion and pursuit in telling my story is to help boys and men find their strength to become courageously transparent about their own brokenness, and to shed light on the symptoms, causes, and effects of childhood trauma and “father wounds.” To free them from emotional incarceration—to see their minds renewed, souls weaned, and relationships restored.

No matter what your age, ethnicity, or social status, you can break the cycle and escape the mental prison that keeps you confined to the limits of misconstrued masculinity. Learn to feel without fear. Accept that you’re not a superhero and remove the cape. As men, our “Kryptonite” is the grinding lifestyle that keeps us working when we need to rest, fighting when we need to seek peace, and worrying when we need to pray.

As you walk through the past with me in the study ahead, my deep desire is that you will discover the power, love, and self-control it takes to truly cry like a man.