Healing the Wounded Masculine: A Deeper Look

Exploring the Path to Healing Masculinity in a Fractured World

Nearly a week ago, my friend and I were stopped by a cop. As soon as I saw the red and blue lights flashing behind us, I braced myself for the worst. It’s a grim reality that many of us face, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was how my story would end.

Thankfully, it wasn’t. The officer claimed my friend had failed to stop at a stop sign, but his real focus seemed to be on whether or not my friend's luxury car actually belonged to him. He repeatedly asked the same two questions: “Is this your car?” and “Did you rent it?” My friend calmly answered “Yes, it’s my car,” and “No, I didn’t rent it” multiple times. Eventually, we were let go, and I’m still here to tell the tale.

Initially, I wanted to write a blog post condemning racism and the insecurities that drive such behavior. But something inside me urged me to dig deeper. It’s easy to arrive at those conclusions, but I felt compelled to ask more profound questions.

As I reflected on my experience, I realized that sharing this story wasn’t just about calling out racism—it was about exploring the deeper issues at play. The fear I felt in that moment, the officer’s suspicion, and my friend’s calm responses all pointed to something larger: a societal wound that we rarely confront directly.

Earlier that day, I had a long conversation with my new friend, Dr. Rain. I reached out to her in the morning, needing help to sort through my thoughts. She graciously made herself available, and I’m so grateful for that. We spoke for what seemed like four or five hours, sharing our experiences and diving into thought-provoking questions—questions that still resonate with me today.

My friend was surprised at how calm I remained during the encounter with the police. My conversation with Rain had brought me a sense of peace, even in that tense moment. This calmness wasn’t just a product of our talk; it was the result of a deeper understanding I was beginning to develop—a recognition of the wounded masculine that Parisma, a friend from my yoga teacher training in Bali, had once spoken about.

Parisma had told me that we need to heal the wounded masculine. At the time, I resisted the idea. I thought, "I’m responsible for my own healing, so why can’t they take responsibility for theirs?" I felt it wasn’t my job to save men; they needed to be brave enough to heal themselves. I was vibrating on my “Why do Black women always have to save people?” wavelength. After all, nobody ever seems to want to save us.

But as I pondered my experience with the cop, I began to see the truth in Parisma’s words. The officer’s suspicion, his repeated questioning—these were symptoms of a deeper insecurity, a wound that society has neglected to address. And this isn’t just about race or gender; it’s about the broader human condition.

As I continued to reflect, I started to ask deeper questions and read more on the subject. There’s a Facebook group for women who’ve been damaged by men. There are race wars in different parts of the world. Women are choosing celibacy and abstinence to avoid the drama and trauma of relationships with men. We have wars and misinformation campaigns. Women have educated themselves, created the lifestyles they want, and vowed never to need a man.

Meanwhile, men are passing legislation that restricts women’s rights and punishes them for making choices about their own bodies. The resounding sentiment seems to be that men are not safe. This realization tied back to something I learned in a college human sexuality class—positive reinforcement. When behaviors are rewarded, they are reinforced, whether those behaviors are healthy or not.

Imagine a child having a tantrum in a supermarket because they want candy. If the parent buys the candy to stop the tantrum, the child learns that throwing a fit is an effective way to get what they want. Now, imagine a society shaped by that kind of reward system. It’s not just about candy and tantrums—it's about how we’ve conditioned ourselves and others, often without realizing it.

Whether we grow up in functional or dysfunctional homes, we all experience some form of trauma. Some kids are smothered with love and feel guilty for being selfish, while others grow up with no love at all. I can’t diagnose the traumas men have experienced or how those traumas have shaped them, but imagine walking through the world feeling like the enemy, like you’re unsafe, unloved, and unwanted.

That’s a level of shame, insecurity, and powerlessness that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Imagine knowing that women don’t need you, but you need them. Imagine fearing that your genitals will stop working one day. It’s enough to cause a world war, in my opinion.

The levels of anger and rage, the need to exert power and strength—all while crying inside because of loneliness and fear—are overwhelming. When you don’t feel valuable enough to be loved, you might hurt others before they can hurt you. This cycle of hurt and harm perpetuates the very issues we’re trying to overcome.

I recently watched Tyrese on The Breakfast Club. He was asked if he had ever taken the time to process his trauma and pain. As he began to cry, I felt his liberation—the freedom of finally being able to process the deepest portions of his pain publicly. I felt his healing in that moment, and it struck me that this is what healing looks like—a willingness to confront the pain and let it out.

I now agree with Parisma: we need to encourage the healing of the masculine. Our society as a whole needs healed men. I envision loving relationships between the feminine and masculine, built on trust and safety. I see little girls and boys growing up feeling adequate, not needing to hurt others because they’re hurting. I see the victims of hurt standing up to bullies. I see little girls confident in relationships and with their bodies. All of this is possible when men heal.

I see a society where we embrace our differences and still respect one another, where there’s less war and more peace, and yes, even more orgasms for women. (Don’t shoot the messenger. 🤷🏽‍♀️)

What if men were able to heal and learn to love themselves? What would that look like for all of us?

We already catch glimpses of it in our society. If you look closely, you’ll see the man swooning over his wife, caring for his child, and loving them deeply. You’ll see her walking confidently, showing up as her full self. You’ll see the kids happy and light.

So, how can we support the healing of the wounded masculine? Let’s discuss.