Every Rep Builds the Muscle: Rethinking Masculinity Through Vulnerability

If we’re just being candid and vulnerable, I think my path toward this work started a long time ago. My parents divorced when I was really young, and that was my first introduction to the world of mental health. It was chaotic, and I think everyone in my family was fumbling in the dark trying to find some kind of footing. 

In high school, my dad and I even went to counseling together to try to strengthen our relationship. Those conversations helped me see how powerful it could be to sit across from someone who simply listened and helped you make sense of what was happening inside. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that experience planted the seed for everything that came later.

After college, I worked in project management. I bounced around from job to job, never really feeling fulfilled. During COVID, I found myself back in therapy again. I realized that the way I moved through the world was shaped by old family dynamics and unspoken fears. I was constantly scanning for rejection, interpreting things through a filter of judgment and defensiveness. I could be a difficult person to be around. I was sensitive, quick to take offense, and quicker to dismiss others before they could dismiss me. My antenna was on and pointed in every direction at once.

Over time, I learned that my sensitivity didn’t have to be a raw wound. It could be a superpower. It didn’t have to stay on all the time. I could turn it off when I needed to, or tune it inward instead of outward. That shift changed everything for me.

When I talk about masculinity, this is what I mean. We’re told that to be a man is to push through pain, to hold the line, to be the protector. But what strikes me as far braver is the willingness to crack that shell, to let the world see you as you are, and to accept yourself even when it feels risky. 

There’s nothing weak about being vulnerable. The truth is, it takes tremendous courage to soften when every instinct tells you to armor up.

I think about it like the half-marathons my partner and I run together. The process of going from running three miles slowly to running fifteen miles quickly didn’t happen overnight. I had to slow down my masculine instincts that said, “If I can’t do it right away, I’ll stop.” Vulnerability works the same way. You have to start smaller than you think is worthwhile. You have to build endurance. Every rep builds the muscle.

The ability to be open and honest doesn’t come from one big breakthrough. It comes from thousands of small repetitions. It’s saying, “I’m worthwhile,” even when it rings hollow. It’s admitting that you want to be better and sitting with how uncomfortable that feels. Each time you do that, the words sound a little truer. The groove gets deeper. Eventually, it starts to feel natural, even freeing.

The tragedy of masculinity as it’s often taught is that it leaves no space for this kind of growth. Many men are taught that worth comes only from achievement. We clear the cobwebs by working harder, lifting heavier, producing more. 

But that kind of strength is often built on fear - the fear of rejection, the fear of softness, the fear of seeing the truth about ourselves. It’s a defense mechanism, and it wears us down. You can’t live your whole life as both the machine operator and the meat on the conveyor belt.

When men come into therapy, they’re already doing something incredibly brave. They’re choosing discomfort over denial. They’re choosing to look at themselves, to sit in the unfamiliar, to stretch that muscle of vulnerability even when it hurts. 

The greatest gift we can give ourselves is to learn how to love and be loved in return. That takes practice. It takes endurance. But once you start building that kind of strength, it changes everything.