Tag Archives: men’s work

Around the world with Iron Man Family Outing

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'Iron Man Family Outing' by Rick Belden

I received an amazing and most unexpected message a few days ago from one of my readers and allies in California. Bret Stephenson has been a counselor of at-risk and high-risk adolescents for twenty-five years, with a particular focus on assisting in trying to create initiation and rites of passage models for modern youth. Here’s what he wrote in his message to me:

Hey Rick–Just wanted to let you know I gave away a couple of your Iron Man books while working in Prague the past few weeks. Maybe it will draw you some attention from that part of the planet.

This is, to the best of my knowledge, the first incursion of my first book, Iron Man Family Outing, into that part of the world, so it’s pretty exciting. The fact that Bret made the effort to bring copies of my book all the way from California to the Czech Republic is also quite amazing to me.

This news got me thinking about all the different places around the globe (outside the US) where I know Iron Man Family Outing has landed so far. It’s actually quite a list:

  • Canada
  • France
  • Great Britain
  • Ireland
  • Scotland
  • Australia
  • New Zealand
  • South Africa
  • Norway
  • Czech Republic

The book no one wanted 20 years ago, the book I carried with me from place to place in eight boxes for years and nearly scrapped in 2006, is now being used worldwide by therapists, counselors, men’s groups, and organizations that work with men as an aid in the exploration of masculine psychology and men’s issues, and as a resource for men who grew up in dysfunctional, abusive, or neglectful family systems.

Not bad for a book that still has no publisher, no marketing, and no distribution (domestic or international). No distribution, that is, other than my kind friend who carried copies of my book, completely of his own volition and with absolutely no prodding from me, all the way from California to Prague.

Falling through: One man’s fear of feeling

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I’m making my first appearance today as a guest blogger on Jungian author Jean Raffa’s blog with a video poem and commentary titled “Falling Through: One Man’s Fear of Feeling” about my fear of feeling and expressing grief, sadness, and pain. Here’s Jean’s introduction to my post:

In keeping with my latest theme of the wounded masculine, I’m pleased to share this piece by guest blogger, Rick Belden. Rick is an author and a poet who has struggled to get in touch with his feelings throughout his adult life. As you’ll see in this post, he’s learned how to use his creative imagination to heal the wounds of his childhood.

You can read the full article here.

Photo credit: David Jewell. Used by permission.

What do you need right now?

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Being asked what you need for the very first time by someone who really wants to know and then finding yourself coming up blank is, I think, a common experience for many men. In the very first men’s group I ever attended, virtually every man (including me) was unable to answer the first time the facilitator asked him, “What do you need right now?”

The most common immediate reaction was disorientation and confusion, as if the question itself was somehow beyond comprehension. A lot of men were rendered speechless. Some shrugged and said, “Nothing.” Some looked away or stared at the floor, as if ashamed at the prospect that they might even have needs. Others made jokes or attempted to change the subject. But almost no one was able to answer the question truthfully and sincerely.

In exploring our reactions and discomfort with the question as a group, it became clear very quickly that most of us (including me) were unaccustomed to expecting anyone else to genuinely care about what we needed, much less give it to us. As we dug a little deeper into our individual experiences and histories, many of us found ourselves feeling very angry about how little our needs had mattered to those around us throughout our lives. There was often a great sadness as well. In some cases, the grief expressed was profound.

One of the first steps for many of us was to learn that it was okay for us to respond to “What do you need right now?” by simply saying, “I don’t know.” Perhaps this seems like an obvious answer to the question, but it’s one that doesn’t come easy for many men. “I don’t know” is a state of mind men have often been taught to equate with weakness; it is something we’ve been conditioned not to acknowledge to ourselves, much less say out loud.

The work required to break through the associated resistance was often substantial for the men involved, and sometimes quite grueling. But a man who is honestly able to say “I don’t know” when he is asked what he needs right now has taken a powerful first step forward in the direction of reconnecting with himself, and those of us who began to answer in that fashion generally found ourselves pleasantly surprised at our ability to respond with something far more specific very soon thereafter.

As we made our first attempts at saying what we needed, some other patterns began to emerge. There was a tendency for many men to talk about their needs in very abstract or high level terms (e.g., “I need more money,” “I need a new job,” “I need a girlfriend,” etc.) that sidestepped the “right now” part of the question. Time after time, the facilitator patiently but firmly steered each man who answered in this manner back into the group, back into the room, and back into real time “right now” experience with the other men who were there with him. This was the next hurdle for many of us, because it meant answering the question not only in “right now” terms, but in terms of telling the other men, “This is what I need from you right now.”

Admitting our needs to other men was another challenging taboo for most of us. We had little or no experience understanding and expressing our needs, and many of our initial attempts felt awkward and clumsy at first. It was also very hard for most of us to trust the other men. Men are often most deeply wounded in groups of other males while growing up, and are therefore highly protected against letting it happen again. But the group provided us with what we most needed, a safe space to practice and make mistakes, and we all made progress, in our own way and at our own pace. It was beautiful and often quite moving to watch these men brave the truly daunting risks of opening and unfolding themselves before others in ways they never had before, and such a great and unforgettable privilege to be present as both a participant and a witness.

I’ve been in several other men’s groups over the years since then, with scores of other men, and I’ve continued to see this same dynamic over and over. Many men, when presented with the question “What do you need right now?”, honestly cannot answer because they learned long ago that their needs were not important. A man who is disconnected from his own needs is truly disconnected from himself, and well down the path to trouble in his life. The good news is that, with proper support, attention, and assistance, every man can learn to answer this very important question consistently with clarity and confidence.

Photo credit: David Jewell. Used by permission.

Welcoming the new generation of Highly Sensitive Men

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A couple of months ago, I wrote a post called “I am a Highly Sensitive Man” in which I shared some of my history and experience as a man who is a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP). My post was then reprinted on the Good Men Project website, where it’s been very popular, and has subsequently been reprinted on numerous other sites around the world and shared widely across social media.

I’ve been very pleased that so many people have felt such a strong connection with what I wrote and have found it so helpful. Many of the most powerful and moving responses I’ve seen have come from young men. Some examples from various sites:

As a young 23 year old guy, reading this article was a revelation. [Good Men Project]

I thought you should know, your article changed my life. [Good Men Project]

Thanks for writing this. I’ve always felt like I am an extreme minority. It was very nice to hear how someone shares the exact same feelings I do … this could have been written by me. [Good Men Project]

I’ve always been this way, I just never knew the term “HSP” … It is a relief to have a name for it, something I can research; and it is a relief to know I’m not alone. [Good Men Project]

I am compelled to comment because I had never heard of the concept of HSPs before reading this article, and these traits describe me incredibly accurately. I am a 29 year old male who’s been in and out of therapy, struggled with addiction, and generally convinced himself that he is incapable of having normal human relationships due to my sensitivity and generalized anxiety. Upon reading this, I immediately did some research, reserved some books at my library, and spreading the word to those few close to me that I think I realized what my perceived “defect” was. And it’s not even a defect! [xoJane]

This post is exactly a reflection of who I am as a person. [xoJane]

I think this is an amazing article. I’ve known a lot of these facts for a while, but I’ve never seen them presented in such a combined article … Thank you for writing this. I’m going to save this article for myself to look back on. [xoJane]

As an HSP (highly sensitive person), this article resonates with me. [The Masculine Heart]

An insight into the masculine underground. [Twitter]

Thanks for your post entitled “I’m a highly sensitive man”. I couldn’t have put it better myself. [Facebook]

I also received a number of private communications from other young men expressing similar thoughts and feelings.

The young men who left the comments above and those who communicated with me privately may not know it yet, but they are far from alone. To the contrary, they at the leading edge of an emerging demographic with tremendous potential for moving our world in a more positive direction. They are the new generation of Highly Sensitive Men.

The video that follows was made by Chrisi Brand, a 24-year-old Austrian man. In the video, Chrisi introduces his new website, highlysensitivemen.com, and his vision for an online community for Highly Sensitive Men. I encourage you to have a look at this video as it is a wonderful example of the sort of initiative, clarity, confidence, and creativity I hope we’ll be seeing more and more from the Highly Sensitive Men of his generation.

I’m very happy to see young men like Chrisi and those whose comments I included above recognizing and claiming themselves as highly sensitive early in adulthood. I’m hoping that means they’re going to avoid a lot of the pain, confusion, and wasted time that so many men like me, who’ve come before them, have experienced in our lives.

These young Highly Sensitive Men are all around us, and they are eager to be seen, understood, accepted, and appreciated so that they can more actively offer their unique gifts to a world that needs them. To all of these young men, I say: Welcome!

Photo credit: David Jewell. Used by permission.

Twilight in present time

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My struggle with a prolonged and nasty writer’s block continues. At times like this, my mind swirls with doubts about who I am and what I’m doing. The hard realities imposed by living in a system that places very little value on what I do, on what I must do because it is who I am, are never far from my awareness and my experience. When my expressive energy is so horribly constrained, those realities feel even more amplified and oppressive in my consciousness. It’s one thing to make sacrifices for an active process; it’s quite another to make them for a process that is, based on all outward appearances, inert, at least temporarily.

This period of creative barrenness and loss of voice comes at a time when I’m feeling as if I’ve exhausted every idea I’ve ever had about how to live my life. It’s not as if I’ve never been in this place before. The difference now is time. Time, once a wild card in my life with its seemingly unlimited series of branches of infinite possibility, is now the trump in the deck, the card that will, soon enough, end the game. Time may heal, but it also kills, and I’m long past the point in my life where time is on my side.

There is a certain inevitable hopelessness that comes with the work I do as a writer, in the sense that there’s virtually no possibility I can ever support myself financially doing it, no matter how good I might be, how creative I am, or how hard I try. I still don’t want to believe this, but it’s getting harder and harder to deny it, and there are many times now, too many, when I fear I’ve doomed myself to a lonely, impoverished old age because I would not give up what I could not have.

I told someone recently, “I wouldn’t wish being a poet on my worst enemy,” and I wasn’t kidding. Not in this culture anyway. I’d have a better shot at making a living as a blacksmith or a barrel maker. The big money machine does not need truth, it doesn’t need feelings, and it most certainly does not need poetry or poets. My friend David Jewell likes to say, “Crime doesn’t pay and neither does poetry,” but criminals, by and large, make a far better living than poets, especially in the increasingly opportunistic, militaristic, authoritarian, predatory “might makes right” / “winner take all” system of lying, fear-making vulture capitalism that dominates our world today.

I’ve spent most of the last thirty years in unfulfilling jobs that pay the bills but use me up and I don’t know what to do about it. My first book is going out of print in about six months and I don’t know what to do about it. My second book remains unpublished after three years and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m going to be 55 in a little over a month, with no pension and no prospects for ever retiring, and I don’t know what to do about it. Lately I feel like I don’t know what to do about anything.

Robert Christgau once said, “Work too long toward a future that never arrives and you lose your hold on what comes naturally.” I wonder how much of this writer’s block I’m experiencing is due to my sinking, ever-deepening realization that my life is, in all likelihood, never going to be more than what it already is: that there is no key and no door, no path to transformation, and no breakthrough to be had, just more lousy soul-sucking jobs to pay the bills (if I’m lucky), and maybe (if I’m lucky) more writing and more poetry.

I’ve tried for years (oh, how I’ve tried) to convince myself that getting paid to sit in a cage all day doing high-end monkey work to keep the technoconsumer culture humming along on its hyper-accelerating path to oblivion ought to be good enough for me. But for whatever reason, for better or worse, doing meaningful work that moves me is not just important to me, but essential to my well-being. Some of this urgent necessity for purposeful work is an inherent aspect of who I am at my core. Some of it is, I’m sure, fueled by a deep need to prove my worth that’s rooted in growing up with a father whose approval I desperately wanted and needed, but never received. Some of it is cultural: men establish, assert, and maintain their identities and their value in my culture by way of their work.

And some, I suspect, is my lineage. My father, my grandfathers, all of my uncles, and all of their forefathers were working class men: farmers, factory workers, mechanics, welders, truck drivers, power linemen, canal workers. Builders, growers, makers, diggers, movers, and fixers. Hard work in the service of producing something tangible and useful was an intrinsic element of their nature, at one and inseparable from their character. It is part of my masculine heritage, one of the long strands of my family DNA.

I did my best to follow the masculine path of work in my family. I spent several years in blue collar jobs (restaurant, sawmill, construction, warehouse, factory) before graduating to a desk in a plastic box. Many of the jobs I took early on were physically demanding and quite dangerous, in part because I had so few choices and in part because I was determined to prove my manhood to myself, to my father, and to any number of other people who saw me as timid, weak, and lazy. Looking back, I can now see that this was an essential step in my rite of passage into manhood, a critically important experience I gave myself because I knew (consciously or not) that I had to have it.

The down side was that, in order to pursue that path, I turned away from other opportunities that would never come my way again. I was very damaged and very confused as a young man. There was virtually no one older in my life to whom I could turn for guidance and assistance, and I trusted no one but my peers, who were struggling in the dark just as I was. I made several critical life decisions early on, before I really knew who I was, that made my life harder then and continue to do so now. Lacking an accurate appreciation of both my capabilities and my options, and not knowing any better, I consistently aimed low. And I hit what I aimed for.

Lately I feel like I’ve spent most of my life blindfolded, and that I’ve finally begun to remove the blindfold just as the sun is setting, much as it’s sinking into the horizon outside my window right now. Better late than never, sure, but how late is too late? To what extent does a greater awareness of one’s capabilities compensate for a fading physicality, a merciless chronometer, and an ever-shortening runway? And how many cards are really left for me to play this late in the game?

Twilight is sometimes still and lovely, sometimes spooky and surreal, but today it feels like a big kick in the chest.

Why aren’t more older men showing up for younger men?

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"Waiting" by David Jewell.

The other day, I read a very timely post written by Jayson Gaddis called “What I Got From The Inter-Generational Dialogue Between Men”. Jayson began his post as follows:

After eight months of gathering together, the leadership team of the Boulder Men’s Experience (BME) decided to pick a theme for the BME-8: Elders. While the BME has been a deep and rich experience that has been able to serve a wide spectrum of men at various levels of development, we felt that one obvious thing had been missing—older men.

Jayson went on to explore this subject, and reflect on his personal experience with it, in greater detail in the context of a recent men’s group focused on the topic of what I’ve previously called “an absence of elders”.

I left a comment in response to Jayson’s post and felt it was worth repeating here:

Jayson, I think you hit on something important here regarding the absence of older men at these gatherings: they don’t see themselves as elders. Furthermore, they don’t see themselves as having anything of value to give younger men, nor do they see younger men as wanting anything they might have to offer.

All of that has certainly been true for me, and the problem is not new. It goes back several generations. In the program A Gathering of Men in 1989, Robert Bly said, “I never realized that young men needed anything I had to give them.” When I first heard him say this, I was 32. I’m 54 now and struggling with the very same issue.

I think it’s also true that many men my age simply have very little personal contact with younger men, outside their carefully prescribed roles in work and family, and therefore have very little opportunity to connect with them in meaningful ways. Without that experience, an older man simply has no context for understanding what is needed and what he can offer in response.

Another factor for men my age, I believe, is that we came of age during a time when distrust of men in authority was deep and pervasive, and for good reason. It was hard to see any man in a position of authority as an ally or a helper who cared and could be trusted, much less as a friend.

I still carry that distrust of authority within me. To see myself, or for other people to see me, as some sort of authority in any context generates a great deal of cognitive dissonance in me. I’m still resisting because part of me still sees a man who embodies and projects authority as the enemy. I worry that, if I fully accept my power and responsibility as an older man, I might turn into one of those old bastards who sold me out and are still selling out our men, young and old, even now.

Finally, as you said, a lot of men my age simply haven’t done the developmental work that’s needed to prepare them to sit and listen to another without trying to offer advice, fix what they see as a problem, or defend themselves. If you can’t sit with your own discomfort (or even feel it), you’re probably going to have a hard time doing it for someone else.

It hurts me to think that younger men might have anger and distrust for me as an individual because of my age, but I can certainly understand it. I remember, when I was in my early 30s, telling a man fifteen years my senior (a man I liked and respected) how angry and disappointed I was with his generation for dropping the ball, being so selfish, and leaving such a mess for my generation. I could hardly disagree with a younger man who might want to say the same thing now to me, or to any man of my generation.

I recommend reading Jayson’s blog post to get the full context of the discussion. This is a deep area, largely unacknowledged and unexplored, and there’s a lot more than can be said.

For another take from me on this subject, see “Coming to Terms with an Absence of Elders”.

Update (08/05/12): This piece has been reposted on the Good Men Project website. Click here to read and join the discussion there.

Tom Golden – Why is it that men’s grief is so invisible?

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I’m featuring a guest post today by Tom Golden, psychotherapist and author of Swallowed by a Snake: The Gift of the Masculine Side of Healing. The material that follows originally appeared as a series of posts on Tom’s Facebook page in which he explored the issue of why so many men find it difficult to express grief, and why they may feel it is unsafe to do so. I’ve collected that series here, with links back to his original Facebook posts.

Why is it that men’s grief is so invisible?
By Tom Golden

Why is it that men’s grief is so invisible? What do you think?

The first element that makes men’s grief invisible is our cultural taboo on men’s emotional pain. A man’s emotional pain is a problem while a woman’s emotional pain is seen as a call to action. People tend to avoid men’s pain.

The second element that makes men’s grief invisible is how men are locked into the provide and protect role. When you provide and protect others, who is providing and protecting you? No one. You better tough it out and do it quietly. If you don’t, shame is coming your way.

A third element that makes men’s grief invisible is the fact that our culture expects men to be independent and punishes men for being dependent. A dependent man is not seen as a “real” man. Is it any wonder that men avoid open expression of emotions? Here’s a quote from Peter Marin from an excellent article he wrote titled “Abandoning Men: Jill Gets Welfare–Jack Becomes Homeless”. Marin says: “To put it simply: men are neither supposed nor allowed to be dependent. They are expected to take care of others and themselves. And when they cannot or will not do it, then the assumption at the heart of the culture is that they are somehow less than men and therefore unworthy of help. An irony asserts itself: by being in need of help, men forfeit the right to it.” Exactly!

A fourth element that makes men’s grief less visible is that men tend to live in a dominance hierarchy. We are all aware of the dominance hierarchy of the Big Horn Sheep with their head butting but few of us are aware that human males are now being seen as living within a similar hierarchy. Within this hierarchy the males strive for status in order to improve their reproductive success. Usually this is done in niches and small groups where males compete but it can manifest on a national or international level. The important point here is that men will strive to portray their best sides in order to insure the best possible placement within the hierarchy. Of course this also means that they will have ample reason to want to conceal “weakness” and “dependency” and that of course includes grief.

Women may scoff at this since they don’t have the same experience in this sort of hierarchical arrangement….except for one spot, attractiveness. Women will tend to compete with each other in a hierarchy of attractiveness. Ladies have you ever tried to hide or conceal a part of yourself that you see as less attractive? If so, this is very similar behavior to men not wanting to publicly emote.

The last element that makes men’s grief less visible is their unique biology. The impact of men’s hormones and their likelihood of having a “masculine” brain both play into men’s processing of emotions. Men have about 10 times the testosterone as their female counterparts. This seems to play a role in the processing of emotions by limiting emotional tears and diminishing the man’s ability to articulate his emotions as he is experiencing them. Both of these qualities have been badly misinterpreted with men all too often being seen as cold and unfeeling.

Men’s grief is simply less visible. When people start to understand these differences they are in a much better position to not judge men unfairly. All too often men are expected to emote and process emotions in the same way that women do. Women are seen as the default and men who fail to compare to that standard are deemed deficient. We need to see each person as an individual and avoid the trap of expecting them to be like ourselves. We are all different. Viva la difference!

Tom is now finishing his next book, a “video book” titled The Way Men Heal. It will offer text, video, and images explaining the above ideas and much more about the paths men do tend to choose in their healing whether it is from a death, a divorce, the loss of a job, or some other difficulty. The book is meant to highlight the masculine path and make it easily visible and understood while honoring men for their unique paths in healing.

tears never cried

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what happens
	to all the tears I never cried
where did they go
have I transformed them into something else
	absorbed them into my body somehow
or have I been saving them up somewhere
	in some secret place
	unseen and unknown
	deep within myself.

are they gone for good
are they forever hidden
or are they simply
waiting.

maybe waiting for me to
	finally feel safe enough
	to allow myself their presence
	and their companionship
	in my everyday life.

maybe waiting for an opening
to move through me all at once in a rush
	transforming my life and my being
	in one radiant moment
	like an invasion of angels.

or maybe
waiting to come to me
	in wave after wave
when I'm on my deathbed
	too old for shame
	too weak to fight
	and too tired
to hold them back anymore.

(PDF version)

Men’s poetry week at the Good Men Project

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The Good Men Project is currently featuring a weeklong series of posts around the theme of men and poetry. The series kicked off earlier this week with a couple of short essays: “The Good Life Includes Poetry” by series organizer Justin Cascio and a piece I wrote called “‘Poetry for Men’ and Other Problematic Labels”. I was pleasantly surprised to see some references to my own work in Justin’s essay. Here’s an excerpt:

Even men who identify themselves as writers struggle with words: for themselves and to describe the work they do. Rick Belden’s essay on poetry, “‘Poetry for Men’ and Other Problematic Labels,” points to both the necessity and limits of labels.

If “poetry” seems too creaky a label to be relevant in the 21st century, consider instead the rising popular interest in and critical regard for rap, slams, jams, and other revivals of poetry as it was originally composed and presented: aloud, by the author. Rick Belden, who joins us again for this theme on poetry, has shared his work here before, not only as the written word, but in videos of the author reading his work.

Justin is adding more posts to the series as the week goes on, including my poem “arrow” (a personal favorite) as well as a really great little essay from Austin therapist Steve Milan called “Men, Poetry, and Therapy” which, as it happens, also references some of my work.

Poetry is both undervalued and underutilized as a means to move into the heart of our experience, especially for men. I’d like to thank Justin for initiating, organizing, and posting this week’s series on men and poetry. I know (all too well) from my own experience what a hard sell poetry can be and I appreciate his efforts to establish a platform for it on the Good Men Project website.

The male wish list

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"Lightning" by David Jewell. Copyright © 2013 by David Jewell.

A few months ago, my UK friend Tony Martin (@redfoxcountry on Twitter) had the brilliant idea of starting a “male wish list” on Twitter using the hashtag #malewishlist. I was so inspired by this idea, and this subject, that in addition to posting a number of #malewishlist tweets myself, I also did what I could to bring as many other male voices into the mix as possible.

The results were outstanding. It was great to see so many men sharing their most heartfelt desires in such a free and spontaneous way, and as the list grew, I felt I was beginning to see the formation of a running archive of communiqués from the deepest inner lives of men.

I was hoping the list would be ongoing, but things didn’t work out that way, and before too long the #malewishlist tweets began to subside. I was comforted, however, by the knowledge that the list built in that short time, that little archive of authentic moments in the masculine heart, would remain available for anyone who wanted to see it, any time.

What I didn’t know was that tweets posted with hashtags fall off Twitter’s search radar after ten days. As a result, the list rapidly withered away as the oldest tweets fell outside the scope of Twitter’s ten-day search window. Gradually, relentlessly, the male wish list became, once again, hidden from view and, for all practical purposes, invisible.

This was a great disappointment to me. I tried to retrieve what I could out of the Twitter memory hole, but my efforts came up short and I finally decided, very reluctantly, that it was time to let it go, thinking I’d seen the last of the male wish list.

But I was pleasantly surprised this morning to discover I was wrong about that. Peter de Kock, a friend in the Netherlands and one of the contributors to the list, has managed to compile a large number of the original tweets (some of which I’d never seen myself) and posted them on his blog at:

Wat mannen echt willen – what men really want

In addition to my great happiness at seeing this information preserved when I thought it lost, I’m also relieved, surprised, and very touched to be reminded once again that I don’t have to do everything myself. I’m so accustomed to thinking that I have no help with the things that matter most deeply to me and that if I don’t take care of them, no one will. As a matter of fact, one of my original contributions to the male wish list was this:

To know I don’t have to do it all alone.

Thank you, Peter, for showing me that I don’t.

Photo credit: David Jewell. Used by permission.