These men are not small. They are rooted. Spacious. Capable of connection and responsible in it.

They make room—within themselves and around them—for others to be vulnerable, too.

THAT is real strength.

I’ve also come to know the quiet strength of men who do not need to be above others to stand tall.

Men who can sit with emotion, not shame it.

Men who protect not to possess, but to care.

Men who speak truthfully without needing to shout.

Men who relate instead of dominate.

I’ve learned to recognize when a man is performing manhood instead of living it. When control replaces relationship. When intimidation pretends to be protection.

This is the tragedy of patriarchal masculinity—not that it is strong, but that it is afraid of what real strength asks of all of us: vulnerability, listening, and the courage to change.

Beneath the booming voice and rigid shoulders is something brittle: fear masquerading as control, loneliness hidden behind bluster, boyhood hurts weaponized instead of faced.

The real question is:
How much of the future—how many possibilities for wellbeing—are you willing to compromise before you push back?

“Germs, Genocides and America’s Indigenous People” by Edwards and Kelton (2020: 54-55).

Essentially, colonizers created "conditions that made natives vulnerable to infection, increased mortality, and hindered population recovery" that "intersected with direct forms of violence to depopulate the Americas."