“Vulnerability is not 
weakness; it’s our 
most accurate 
measure of courage.”  
Brené Brown

For much of my life, I thought courage meant being strong, never giving up, and dealing with my problems on my own. Somewhere along the way, I learned that it’s important, as a man, to never allow people to see me struggling. I suspect many men learned something similar.

We learned to measure ourselves against other men. Who was more successful? More accomplished? More confident? As we moved through life with this mindset, friendships often quietly became competitions. Instead of asking, “How are you really doing?” we compared résumés, accomplishments, possessions, and stories. As I’ve grown older, however, I have realized that courage means something very different.

Brené Brown writes, “Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.” I understand these words differently today. Perhaps courage is not protecting the image I have created for others. Perhaps it is allowing another person to see what lies underneath it.

Ignatian spirituality continually invites me to pay attention—to notice what is happening within me and to ask, “Where is God in this?” God may be present in the very things I am tempted to hide: my fears, regrets, disappointments, loneliness, uncertainty, and need for others. Instead of running from those places, perhaps God invites me to enter them honestly and to trust that I do not have to enter them alone.

There is something sacred about men sitting together and dropping their defenses. One man says, “I’m struggling.” Another admits, “I’m afraid.” Someone else says, “I don’t know what to do.” Suddenly, nobody needs to have all the answers.

Rachel Naomi Remen writes, “Perhaps the secret of living well is not in having all the answers, but in pursuing unanswerable questions in good company.” Good company. What a gift that can be.

Perhaps male friendship, at its deepest level, is not about having companions who admire our strength, but companions with whom we do not have to pretend to be strong. We were never meant to make this journey entirely by ourselves. We need people who will listen without fixing, accompany without judging, and remind us that God is still at work when the road ahead is unclear.

Today, courage looks different to me. Real courage is taking off the armor. It’s telling the truth. It’s allowing myself to be known for who I really am, not for who I want people to think I am.